Reverence and Malice
by Pale White Shadow
Summary: The Divine Crusader falls from his destiny as the stirrings of a new threat to Tamriel threatens Cyrodiil once more merely a few years after the Oblivion Crisis.
1. Fall From Grace

**Author's Note: Kind of slow at first but it picks up soon enough. Please enjoy.**

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><p>He dreamt of someone sleeping peacefully in his bed, when a shadowy, gaunt figure silently entered the room. Approaching the bed, the figure leaned down and sank its fangs into the sleeping person. After a few moments, the pale figure rose, blood dripping down its chin. As color flowed back into the vampire's face, as its features filled out, he recognized the face as his own.<p>

Cassius awoke screaming in horror, grasping in his bed for the blade that normally resided beside by him in him sleep. He clutched at nothing but air, blind panic gripping into him. Suddenly he felt hands on his shoulders, gripping him tightly. He tried his hardest to swing at his attacker, feeling his fists slam into their head, connecting with cold steel. He thrashed about, trying to get loose. He would not die in his own bed like cattle to the slaughter, he would fight to his last breath. He heard his attacker crying out, and then more hands were pressing into him, trying to subdue him. He thrashed even more, punching and kicking each and every one of them. There seemed to be four, maybe five, all crying for his death. He would not allow it. He would not go down so-

A gauntleted hand rang out across his ear and suddenly his senses seemed to be returned to him.

"Sire, you need to calm down! You're safe here!" a voice bellowed at him. He immediately stopped thrashing and went limp. His former attackers immediately released him, the ringing of chainmail sounding out in the small room. Cassius relaxed and stared about him, suddenly alert and focused. Sir Thedret was nursing his jawbone, a bruise forming from where Cassius' fist had met it. Thedret was Cassius' second-in-command of the Knights of the Nine, those chosen by the Aedra themselves to defend all of Tamriel by Their word. Surrounding his captain were a few of the other knights, Sir Areldur, Sir Geimund, and his brother Sir Gukimir. Directly beside Thedret was Sir Lathon. The young knight had a look of horror upon his face mirrored by his fellow knights. Cassius turned to look at Thedret once more.

"What happened?" he asked Thedret. The Redguard gave his commander a look, not knowing how to respond to his leader's question without upsetting him.

"What do you last remember sire?" he questioned Cassius.

"I remember..." he thought back, but his memory was hazy. "I remember heading to a cave... to deal with that menace threatening Skingrad..." he thought even harder and came up with nothing.

"Do you remember what happened in the cave sire?" Lathon offered. Cassius regarded the former squire, a Redguard like Sir Thedret.

"There was a great battle." Cassius remembered. "The foes were powerful, strong and agile." He thought some more. "I cornered their leader, and we did combat. He was stronger than all the rest, faster, but Talos guided my blade. I overcame my foe. But then..." Cassius struggled to think.

"And then what?" Came Sir Areldur's curious voice. The Altmer seemed anxious. Cassius began to notice that the other knights other than Thedret and Lathon were giving him a wide berth.

"Pain." Cassius remembered. His fists clenched as he thought of the blinding explosion in his shoulder, then his gut, and finally his...

Cassius gasped. "How long have I been out?" He asked his knights.

"A week, sire." Came Thedret. "Sir Areldur and Sir Avita tended to your wounds as best as they could but their efforts were in vain..." Cassius looked down to his bed and saw them to be covered in blood, _his _blood. Stained rags were piled all around the floor of his private chambers. Cassius could see the de facto captain of the knights eying him. Did he sense fear in the normally unshakable Redguard?

Cassius looked down to assess his body. Bandages wrapped around his entire body but he felt no pain. Curious. He began to undo a bandage around his arm. His knights watched with curiosity. The more he unraveled the bandage, the more surprise crept into their normally stoic faces. Cassius felt as if he could almost smell their emotions. Not a single scratch lay under the bandage. Not a one. As Cassius gazed at it, not even his old wounds were to be found. He looked to Thedret once more.

"I thought you said your efforts were in vain." He half asked, half stated. He flexed his muscles. He felt no soreness, no feeling of any wounds. No mark was left upon him at all. He did seem rather pale, but other than that there was no telling of what had transpired before.

"They were sire. Until..." Thedret sighed. "Lathon, bring the mirror." He asked the other knight. Cassius was confused. The other knights seemed to retreat back more. Almost cautiously, Lathon handed Thedret the mirror before he joined his fellow knights away from their commander. Hesitantly, Thedret handed Cassius the mirror.

Cassius gazed into a reflection that was not his own. His face was pale as the moonlight, as gnarled and wrinkled as a ravine. Two scarlet orbs had replaced what used to be his brilliant blue eyes. His mouth dropped in horror to reveal not teeth, but fangs, glinting dully under the candlelight of the room. Cassius's eyes were wide in shock. He gripped the mirror even harder and it shattered under his grasp.

The Divine Crusader had become a vampire.

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><p>Four days ago the Commander had appeared in the priory's undercroft, transported there by the magic of the long-ago Sir Amiel's ring. The Commander had enchanted it himself to bring him back to the Priory whenever he was in need. The smith Sergius Turrianus, who occupied the basement for his work heard the crash and called for the other Knights to investigate. Lathon had been in the stables attending to the horses when he heard the smith's shout. The Nord brothers Sir Geimund and Sir Gukimir were the first on the scene, followed closely by Sir Thedret, the Commander's second-in-command. When Lathon reached the basement he saw the Commander being brought above from the undercroft, Sir Geimund holding his feet, Gukimir his legs.<p>

The Commander's armor, the divine relics of Pelinal Whitestrake, were torn asunder. Blood seeped from the many wounds upon his body. A single broken arrow protuded from the Commander's shoulder. The Commander appeared delirious from pain, crying out incoherently about worms and filth. Sir Thedret emerged from the undercroft soon after the brothers carried the Commander past the former squire and requested that Lathon deliver Sir Areldur and Sir Avita to help the Commander. Lathon immediately rushed outside, calling for his fellow knights.

The former priests and healers did what they could for the Commander. Avita carefully removed the broken arrow, taking care not to leave any fragments inside of the Commander's body. They then immediately stripped him of the sacred armor, taking care with both their leader and the holy relics. He groaned in pain and moaned more ramblings, becoming less coherent. Both knights quickly tried to spread their magicka through the crusader's body but found their efforts stopped. They were dumbfounded and tried once more to no avail. Their commander continued to moan and rage about, thrashing slightly. He was mad with pain. It was a pitiful sight to see their leader so.

"Perhaps it's some kind of enchantment they cast upon him..." Areldur mused, trying to stay calm as his leader's wounds resisted their efforts.

"This is unlike anything I have ever seen." Avita spat, her face screwed up in frustration.

Areldur examined the torn crusader some more, wondering.

"His wounds are not fatal." He pointed out. While blood seeped from the many slashes and punctures in the Commander's body the blood appeared to be stemming, some beginning to heal over his already scarred body.

"No, they're not." Observed Thedret, coming into the room with the clinking of chainmail. He took off his helm at the sight of their leader, then looked at the holy armor laying in a neat pile upon the desk. He motioned toward them.

"We can do no more for the Commander." He told them. "Take the Crusader's Relics down to the undercroft and place them upon the stand. I have done so with the arms and shield." He informed them. When each looked at the other, Thedret spoke again.

"I would rather keep such holy artifacts intact than to leave them bloodied and battered as if they were mere tools." He said with an edge to his voice. "The Nine will find no offense in us handling the Relics as the Commander lies here." He said with conviction. The two knights nodded and began to collect the armor. Lathon appeared in the doorway behind Thedret. Making room for the young knight Thedret let him pass. The youthful Redguard strode past and clasped the commander's hand in both of us, looking as if he were about to weep. Thedret was shaking on the inside but he tried to remain stoic throughout. While the Commander was incapacitated, Thedret took up the mantle of leadership for the Knights. He could not lose it at a time like this, when they needed someone to be strong. Lathon, however, did not have that responsibility. Thedret could only watch as the former squire bowed his head to the Crusader and began to weep.

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><p>Deep underground in the confines of his tower, the King of Worms was pleased. Very pleased, in fact. He looked at the figure standing before him clad in leather armor as black as midnight, the shadows of the small cavern appearing to cling to her. The Dark Elf regarded him with cold eyes, protruding slightly from under the cowl she wore. Her ash skin complemented her armor perfectly, giving her the appearence of being in almost total darkness. The King of Worms stroked his staff affectionately in delight at the news she delivered.<p>

"So it is as I requested?" He asked her rather excitedly. After months of planning, his plan was finally coming to fruition.

Tadave seemed to sigh impatiently. "Again, yes." she hissed. He seemed slightly annoyed with her attitude but he paid her no mind, he was too excited with the prospects of what was to come. Arrogant bastard, Tadave thought to herself.

"Excellent." He said. "Tell your master he has my gratitude for allowing me to use such a valuable servant." He told her.

The Dumner's eyes flashed coldly at that. "It is only by my master's will that I am here, nothing more." She told him, steel in her voice.

The King of Worms smirked now. "Regardless," He said silkily. "You have done well. Your master is lucky to have one such as you."

She said nothing, merely regarding him with a kind of cold indifference. She found him to be insufferable, but her master had ordered her to listen to his requests. At least, for now.

"Very well," He said suddenly. "I shall send word to your master regarding the next phase. Until now, I release you." He told the Dunmer. She smiled inwardly, finally glad to be rid of him. Outwardly she showed not a sign of emotion. Just her cold, slate eyes that always seemed rimmed with ice. She nodded and stepped back, turning to enter the portal that would have brought her back to the surface level.

"Oh, and one more thing?" The King of Worms called out to her. She turned slightly to look at him, her armor making not a sound in the cavern.

He smiled. "Go with Sithis." He told her with a smile. She almost snorted in disgust at his use of the Dread Father's name. He was lucky she didn't kill him right here and now, but her master needed him. They had some plot between them, though she knew not what it was. Instead of saying anything, she merely turned and stepped into the portal, the energies of magicka storming into her and teleporting her many levels to the above ground. As soon as she was away from that bastard she groped into her armor, finding the amulet there as it always was. She brought forth the magicka from her body and pushed it into the amulet, triggering its effect. Once more she felt a surge of energy throughout her body, feeling her body leave Mundus momentarily. Before she knew it she was in yet another cave, this one familiar. She stood in an antechamber of rough-hewn stone, her back to a small pool of water. Ahead of her was a tunnel that she swiftly walked toward.

It wasn't long before she found her master in the small complex. He was knelt at the shrine dedicated to the Dread Father Sithis in prayer. She stared at the shrine, the robed guise of Sithis himself beckoning as the stone figures of damned souls reached out toward him. Claws of bone protruded from the craggy walls, surrounding the Dark Father. She then turned her attention to her master kneeling, his head bowed in prayer whispering things Tadave could not hear. She stood back and held her silence, knowing that her master knew her to be there but paid her no heed. She bowed her head in silent reverence to the Dread Father, waiting for her master to complete his prayers. When he had finished, he did not acknowledge her. He merely walked past her. She gazed once more at the shrine before turning to follow her master. When they had left the shrine, he finally spoke to her.

"So I gather the King of Worms has returned you to me due to your outstanding service." He said in a voice as smooth as silk and as pleasant as a warm fire.

"Yes, master." She said. "He was most pleased with my performance." She told him, even though the opinion of the necromancer meant nothing to her.

"As am I." Her master stated. "Never once have you failed me, my Silencer." He said with a wry smile, turning to look at her as they walked.

Tadave's heart soared with the praise of the Listener. "My life for you." She said before she could stop herself. The Listener stopped in his tracks.

He turned to regard her fully. He drew back his hood in full, revealing his face fully. His face was as pale as the full moon, his eyes as red as blood, his fangs as sharp as razors.

"Do you mean to correct yourself?" He asked her, an edge in his voice. Tadave stiffened upon hearing that.

"My life for the Dread Father and our dear Night Mother." She stated with no emotion. Her eyes did not betray a hint of her mind. Years of training made sure of that.

"I'm glad you understand, my dear." He said, stroking Tadave's cheek with a gentle hand. She wanted to melt under his touch. Before she knew what was happening she felt her back slamming into the wall of rock behind her and felt the Listener's signature ebony blade pressing into her throat. She felt hopeless at it's touch. She could feel her life beginning to shrink away, she could almost feel her master slicing cleanly through her slender neck. Fear gripped her heart. But she felt no shame in dying. She had served the Night Mother and the Brotherhood well; surely Sithis would welcome her with open arms. But she felt the blade leave her throat and instead felt her master's lips upon hers. His kiss was deep, passionate, warming her entire body. She could feel her heart soar, her pulse race. She kissed him back, sliding her arms around his neck and waist. He deepened his enthusiasm, growling as he did so. She could feel him bringing her closer to him. She felt him beginning to kiss her neck, his sharp fangs poking her jugular slightly. She grew excited. This was it, she thought. Her master would finally give her his dark gift, and they would be one. She could almost feel him biting...

Suddenly he pulled back and smiled at her. With another gentle kiss, he released her. She reluctantly let him go as well, crestfallen.

"Now is not the time my dear." He told her, resting his hand on her chin. She hated to hear those words. She looked at the Listener, her eyes now shining with something quite like fire in place of their usual ice.

"Then why do you do this to me?" She asked him. She regretted it immediately.

The gentle fingers holding her chin turned to a steel vice, his claws digging into her ashen flesh.

"Because I am the Listener of the Dark Brotherhood, the voice of the Night Mother, the bridegroom of Sithis." He hissed at her. He brought the blade to her eyes, his eyes flashing with cruelty and gleeful malice. "You will do as I say or you shall suffer the consequences. Understood?" He asked her in a deadly whisper. Tadave imagined that if the Dread Father himself could speak, he would sound like her master. She nodded within his painful grip and he let her go. She dropped to her knees and began massaging the area his nails had penetrated her. Her hands came away with smears of blood upon her gray skin. When she looked up her master was stalking down the tunnel, his back to hers. As she stared at him, she whispered once more.

"My life for you."


	2. Portends of Shadow

**Author's Note: If you find this chapter slow and unbearable, fret not; the next chapter should have plenty of action in it.**

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><p>Cassius knelt before the priory's chapel, staring up at the stained glass window of the fabled Pelinal Whitestrake and Umaril the Unfeathered locked in the epic battle of long ago. He bowed his head in prayer, his strong voice reverberating throughout the small cloister.<p>

_Come to me, Akatosh, for without you, my resolution falters, and my pen is still and dry, though all the seas were full of ink, and the sky my parchment of dawn.  
>Come to me, Talos, for without you, my Lord and Emperor springs from rootless dust, and the Empire is scattered before the winds of war and ignorance.<br>Come to me, Julianos, for without you, my wit is weak to sort the wheat from the chaff, and my eyes should neither know the true from the false, nor sense from folly, nor justice from prejudice and interest.  
>Come to me, Kynareth, for without you, I might not know the mysteries of the world, and so blind and in error, I might consume and profane the abundance of your beautiful treasures.<br>Come to me, Zenithar, for without you, like a child, I might fiddle and fret when only through struggle and labor may I craft a work worthy of your name and the name of my patron.  
>Come to me, Stendarr, for without you, I might be deaf to the manswarm murmurings of thy people, and forgetting their need for comfort and wisdom, I might indulge myself in vain scribbling.<br>Come to me, Mara, for without you, I might forget the ways of our fathers, and preening by the light of latest fashion, my words might tremble like the thin reeds of novelty in the tempest of enthusiasms.  
>Come to me, Dibella, for without you, my words must lie dull and leaden without the gilding of grace and sagacity to enchant the reader's ear and eye.<br>Come to me, Arkay, for without you, there is neither breath nor beginning, nor can any man live, love, or learn without the spark of your spirit."_

He finished the prayer, hoping to feel that same spirit as he always had. He felt nothing. Cassius kept trying, kept praying to the Nine, the ones that he had fought for so hard for so long. He asked for comfort, guidance, wisdom, anything. He was greeted only with ashes. His prayers were doing nothing were they had succeeded before. He felt despair threatening to rise up and he pushed it back down. He had done nothing to anger the Nine. This was through no fault of his own. He had served the Nine faithfully. He had no doubts upon that thought.

After another hour of prayer he stood and still received nothing. He heaved a sigh. The gods would not abandon their champion so easily. He regarded the chapel with it's equal silence in his reflection. Saying nothing more he arose and turned, heading towards the small wooden door of the chapel. Outside night had fallen for a few hours; it was the only time he could leave the priory house. The Heartlands of Cyrodiil were peaceful at night. It was the beginning of First Seed, the warm spring air surrounding Cassius with a gentle caress. In his new state he was aware of more than he had ever been; the birds quietly sleeping amongst the trees, the bugs gently buzzing around the clearing, the gentle gurgle of a far off stream. He could hear the burrowing, the gnawing, the scratching, the buzzing, the crying, the crooning, the whining, he could hear it all in an incessant cacophony of noise. The orchestra was beginning to swell, Cassius caught in the chorus unable to escape. The damnable song pounded into his ears, forcing its way into his mind. It threatened to overwhelm him, he couldn't stand it. He would as mad as Sheogorath.

He quickly rushed to the priory house, closing the door as gently as he could behind him. By now the other knights slept. To his dismay Cassius could hear them all, particularly the brothers Geimund and Guikimir. He could hear the rise and fall of everyone's chest... and the beating of their hearts within. As much as he tried not to, he found himself focusing on their hearts. The pumping of blood throughout their bodies, a song to him, a pleasant symphony. Seven bodies sang their bloodsong to him. Cassius knew what it was. He could feel their entire presense in their beds, quietly slumbering. He felt himself getting hungry, but not for food. For something that seemed far tastier and sweeter than any wine...

Cassius snapped out of it and headed toward the basement, to the stairs leading down. The stairs were emblazoned with the Knights of the Nine crest, Cassius having unlocked it himself almost two years ago. That had truly begun the sacred quest he had embarked on, to find and recover all of the fabled Crusader's Relics and unite them once more to defeat Umaril the Unfeathered. He had down so, the Nine guiding him every step of the way. He felt their presence in every step then. He felt nothing now as he descended the stairs past a sleeping Sergius to the undercroft below, trying to ignore the heat and sweetness reverberating off the man.

He found himself in the chamber, surrounded by the fallen knights of old. Cassius could see it directly in front of him. The Relics of the Crusader hung from their stand, the shield and weapons resting beside it. He strode through the quiet chamber, his footsteps echoing throughout the pillars. He found himself before the sacred arms and armor. The Nine had chosen him to wield them, to bring peace to Tamriel in their name. For the past three years he had done as such, defeating the foul Umaril the Unfeathered in his own realm, laying his corrupted heart to finally rest. After that he had journeyed throughout Tamriel, as did those under his command, healing the sick and wounded, defending those who could not muster the strength against greater foes. He prayed to the Nine everyday, taking more pilgrimages throughoutCyrodiil to the other wayshrines. His gods had never failed him before.

The Imperial reached to grab the helm from the stand and felt his hands burn upon their touch. With something close to panic he pulled at the helm, finding it immovable, as heavy as a boulder. He gritted his teeth and continued to pull, his muscular biceps straining, threatening to tear. The crusader didn't care. He ignored the inferno the helm had seemed to become, ignored the smoke beginning to rise from his palms, ignored everything except trying to remove the helm from its stand. This couldn't be happening. Surely they wouldn't deny him-

With an explosion of power Cassius was flung backward, landing in the center of the undercroft. He felt a presence within him, the presence of the Nine, only more terrible and greater than anything he had ever felt before. They rose throughout him, swirling within him, making him cringe. As one, they cried within his head.

"Only those of a pure and uncorrupted heart may wield the Crusader's Relics!"

With that they left him, leaving him upon his knees in the undercroft. Cassius could only stare at the holy relics before tears streamed down his cheeks, his head in his hands as he shuddered against his sobs.

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><p>The cavern was cold, dark, wet, and devoid of anything but darkness besides the desks and the singular scarred and stained table in the middle of the cavern. Torches dotted the area making it very well lit. Notes and papers cluttered one desk beside quills and inkpots, and alchemical equipment with ingredients strewn about covered the other. This was Jesan Bellich's "laboratory" as he had come to call it. Deep in the recesses of the cave he was alone. Only him and his subject. His subject, an Imperial male clad in only a filthy loincloth, was currently chained to the ground by his wrists and ankles in long chains. Jesan stood not far away from him at his desk, scribbling away as he described the sleeping Imperial male. He was fascinated by the way the Imperial did not seem to make that much noise sleeping. Maybe not everyone snored? Jesan had always wondered that. Orcs shook the entire cavern down here, and the rasping of Argonians made Jesan feel as if a pit of snakes were behind him. Not very comfortable for him.<p>

The Imperial groggily moved his head around, not appearing to show recognition of his surroundings. He tried moving his limbs and found them to be restricted. Suddenly he seemed more alert, looking up at Jesan himself. Confusion and then angered appeared on his face.

"What in the name of Akatosh have you done to me?" The Imperial cried out. Jesan said nothing but continued to scribble away at his parchment. It was a shame the Imperial had woken up so soon, but now Jesan's experiments could really start. With a final dot at the parchment he regarded his subject. Jesan had "acquired" him along the Red Ring Road, having seeing him look like a proper specimen for his purposes. He regarded the Imperial's rather muscular chest and wondered if that would pose a problem to his theory. Well, only time would tell. Jesan rose from his seat.

The Imperial seemed to shrink back, but only being able to move so much with his ankles shackled as they were. His wrists were bound together as well in a singular bracelet that Jesan had requisitioned from a city guard. He regarded his subject with cold, pale gray eyes. The color of stone. The Imperial seemed taken aback.

"Who are you?" The Imperial asked him, frightened. Jesan said nothing, choosing instead to stride around his desks toward the specimen. He had already taken the time to measure and adjust for the Imperial's sizes and measurements while he was sleeping but there was always something different when the subject was awake and moving rather than unconsious. Jesan stood a few feet away from the Imperial, one hand under his chin, trying to decide what experiment to conduct first.

"What do you want from me?" The Imperial finally wept. "I'm just a simple road merchant, you've obviously stripped me of all my valuables. I have no family to ransom to. If you're going to kill me just get it over with!" The man fell to his knees and began to sob. Jesan regarded the pathetic mess for a few more moments before drawing a breath. He could feel the forces of magicka surrounding him, chaotic and unformed, a mass of energy that only a select few could feel. pass into him, into all of him, forming a pattern, a pattern that he had grown to know well. He felt it mostly in the area where his heart was located, the seeming focal point for it all. Long had he studied this and yet he could not find a proper way to describe it. But that was not his topic now. He released this feeling outward of his body, it being second nature to him by now. In his mind he could visualize it, a wave of energy normally emanating about him now being radiated toward his subject. When the wave hit the Imperial he stopped weeping and stood to his feet, a blank expression on his face.

Jesan continued to maintain the waves toward the Imperial but also split some away and changed them, focusing them toward the locks. They shifted from waves into pulses when they reached the locks and in a splitsecond the chains clattered to the floor about Jesan's subject. With a nod from Jesan his subject obediantly stuck out his arm. Jesan examined it for a moment before holding his hand palm down over the Imperial's forearm. The Breton continued to radiate and focus the waves into the Imperial's mind while he shifted the magicka inside his own body toward his hand, focusing it outward through the palm. The magicka threaded itself into a spell as it always did, moving out of his palm and heating the air between Jesan and his subject. Jesan did not create fire, merely the heat that would emenate from a particularly large fire.

As a result Jesan began to see the results almost immediately. The Imperial's skin blistered and burned, the skin turning a deep scarlet before spliting open. Blood leaked for the merest instant from the Imperial's wounds but was immediately cauterized by the heat of the spell. Before long his forearm took on the appearance of melting wax, flesh sliding away to reveal the muscle that soon began to recieve the same treatment. Soon his flesh had blackened and crisped altogether, starting a smell reminiscent of grilled chicken over a fire. The heat had intensified now and the Imperial's hand was rapidly going through the same treatment before his forearm fell to the floor, sending a small cloud of ash upward and leaving the end of his bicep a blackened stump. Amidst the ash Jesan could see the Imperial's half burnt hand amongst the ash. He nodded and made his subject lower his blackened half-arm and raise the other one.

Without any hint of recognition that he had just had his arm incinerated, his subject stared ahead of Jesan while he examined the other arm. Jesan took a moment to regard the glowing ring on his finger before he once again unleashed a spell. This time the magicka turned the air between his hand and the Imperial's forearm extremely cold. Jesan saw the muscle underneath the skin tighten up and contract, as was the body's natural reaction. Very soon frost began to collect on his subject's arm, and then began to turn purple, then a cool blue. Finally it began to blacken. As before Jesan upped the intensity of the spell as the Imperial's skin clung to the bone in a dead fashion. Jesan stopped and examined the work. He looked carefully at the hand and realized that the blood had seemed to stay inside of the Imperial's hand, having no way to escape. Jesan believed that he had frozen the very blood in his subject's arm, trapping what was in the Imperial's hand as it was starting to color. To test his theory he poked the blackened forearm. He felt dead and necrotic flesh for a moment before it fell under him, snapping at his touch. Jesan nodded and then made his subject lower his arm once more.

Jesan studied his subject once more. The waves radiating into the Imperial's body made him calm and complacent in body, feeling no pain. The magicka snaked its way into the subject's mind and brought the Imperial completely under Jesan's control. Maintaining the spell was very simple; Jesan had mastered the art of focusing on multiple spells. He rarely had to concentrate on it. Jesan was very conscious of the ring on his finger though, acting as a vacuum for the surrounding magicka and focusing it into Jesan's body, letting it flow through his entire body in a flow of energy. Jesan's mind appeared clouded to him but that was normal in spellcasters; magicka used the energy of the mind, not the body. The mind and the heart seemed connected through some kind of magical highway. The ring replenished the reserves of magicka in Jesan's body almost immediately, giving him a literal infinite amount of energy. This allowed him to maintain multiple spells surrounding him as well as cast others at the same time. Jesan had mastered this art where few others had.

Focusing back on his subject he released the man from the hold he had on him. The Imperial merely stood confused for a moment before staring down at the stumps that were once his arms. He began screaming, as was the natural reaction. Jesan hated the screaming, that's why he preferred to keep his subjects under a spell. Doing otherwise would be torture. Unfortunately, for this next experiment Jesan had to have the subject in his own mind. Better to observe the effects in a "live" subject.

With that thought Jesan brought up his arm and faced his palm outward. Wasting no time he brought the magicka from his body and focused it through his palm and outward, supercharging the air and sending tendrils of electricity toward the Imperial. They struck the Imperial and he began to shake, falling to the floor and beginning to convulse. Jesan could see the muscles locking up and vibrating, causing the Imperial to awkwardly jerk and shake. Jesan upped the intensity in the lightning and his subject began to shake even more, the hair on his head standing up along with all the other hair on his body. Jesan could smell it singing by now. Jesan began to focus more magicka outward, the ring on his finger glowing a little brighter as he did so. He could feel the magicka rush through his body, inward and then outward, his mind and heart both seeming to swirl as he did so. Before long the Imperial was beginning to smoke, smolder, and then finally crisp. The effect was immediate throughout the subject's body. Interesting. Jesan could feel the magicka pass into the subject's entire body on impact and found that it maintained the same energy throughout...

The Imperial was now dead, a corpse still slightly smoking. Jesan had been a little enthusiastic with his work. It did not matter, Jesan had gotten the needed results. It seemed that if a mage were to use magicka to merely heat, cool, or charge the air around him he got rather different results then the standard fireball, icebolt, and lightning projectiles most mages were fond of using. Of course, it could just be that none had the same magical aptitude of Jesan. With his ring he was able to do so much more than any other mage, he was sure of it.

As Jesan pondered he headed back to his desks and sat in the chair. Leaning back into it he put a thoughtful hand to his chin, almost subconsciously focusing magicka onto the quill, causing it to rise and write down his thoughts as fast as they entered his head. He sat there and thought, ever the diligent scholar.

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><p><strong>Author's Note: Again, I'll try to add action in the next chapter. Hope you enjoyed that little scene there.<br>**


	3. A Shadow of an Idea

**Author's Note: First I'd like to give a very sincere thank you to DualKatanas and Arty Thrip for giving this a chance and helping me along through it. I'm trying to take their advice to heart, and if it hasn't been done by now I will be editing the prior chapters for to make them, well, better. Now here's that action I promised.**

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><p>Cries of "Assassin!" rang out in the night from the guard tower as Tadave lept from the top story window to the ground below. She used magicka to make the air below her harder, slowing her descent to the street fifty feet below her. Before she could do anything else she saw five city guards rushing towards her, alerted by the cries of their comrades, weapons drawn with the clanging of their armor echoing through the streets of Kvatch. They had the air of not wanting to take her to the city jail. Fine by me she thought, unsheathing the elven-made shortsword at her side.<p>

Just as she readied herself into a combat stance the first guard charged her, slashing at her torso. She quickly ducked the blade and moved toward the guard, lunging with her blade into the guard's stomach. His steel light chainmail and surcoat were punctured easily by the ancient blade, forged long ago by the Ayleids, as deadly as it was when it was forged. Tadave took care of her blades. As the ancient steel passed through the guard Tadave felt him jolt back. With practiced ease she brought her foot to his chest and kicked him away, sliding the blade out in the process. With a twirl of the shortsword she faced her other attackers. He laid upon the ground screaming in agony, blood spouting from his mouth as he spasmed.

The guards began to circle out and flank her, fanning out from each other. They encircled Tadave, each eying her, looking for an opening. She assumed a combat stance, shortsword at the ready. It glowed with enchantment in the dim moonlight, the moons Masser and Secunda shrouded by the cover of clouds. The sight of the blade she wielded struck fear in their hearts for no feasible reason. Still, it was not enough to deter them completely. One of the guards from behind her stepped toward her, thrusting his longsword.

She quickly turned and parried his blade, driving it low. The blade tip touched the ground and Tadave's blade found his shoulder, slicing through his armor as if it were butter and biting into his flesh. She ripped the shortsword back viciously, blood splattering onto her armor. His scream pierced through the night, clutching his shoulder in agony and writhing on the floor. The other guards seemed to waver, some visibly shaking now. They had all served in the Legions, cut down foes three times her size, and now they shrank from this small Dark Elf with her glowing shortsword.

A smile crept to Tadave's lips as she shifted the magicka within her, thrusting her hand outward toward one guard as she twisted and weaved the magical threads through her arm and out of her palm. A bolt of blood red energy struck him in the face, causing his helmet and skull to fuse together, his flesh melting like candle wax. He began to scream out but soon his skull was bubbling, turning his screams to gargles as he dropped to his knees. The other guards could only watch in horror, taking one last look at Tadave before backing away as fast as they could. When they deemed themselves safe they turned and fled as fast as their feet could carry them, away from the slender Dark Elf nightblade.

Tadave began to hear another contingent of guards heading her way if the rumbling in the barracks was any indication. Not wishing to fight off the entire city watch, Tadave quickly reached inside of her leather armor to the amulet hanging around her neck. With a burst of magicka to the amulet she found herself leaving the streets of Kvatch, the guards cursing as they saw her fade away with the crackle of energy. When the swirlings of energy had stopped she found herself once more in the Deepscorn Hollow.

She passed her master's garden of poisonous herbs and plants to a single door. Moving quickly through the tunnels, she searched for her master. She found him in the study near his sleeping chambers, idly flicking through the pages of a book. She knelt, knowing that he knew she was there.

"Is it finished?" he asked, setting down his book.

"Terius Malavian lies dead in the Kvatch guard tower barracks as you requested Listener." Adave reported to the vampire. She saw a smile flicker under her master's hood, a good sign. She felt her heart race at the sight. The Listener stood and strode over to his kneeling servant.

"You have served me well, Adave." He said to her in his smooth voice. "The captain was close to finding our Brothers and Sisters in the new Kvatch Sanctuary. You delivered the message with clarity: the Dark Brotherhood shall do whatever necessary to keep our family safe." He smiled in full at his Silencer.

"Anything for the Brotherhood." She stated simply, aching to tell her master how she truly felt. His smile seemed to diminish slightly.

"Arise, my child, and continue however you see fit." He told her, a tone resembling ice in his tone. Adave brought herself to her feet, trying to discern her master's mood. The Listener was a master at the craft of the assassin, but Adave had known how to read people for a long time, even before she had joined the Brotherhood. He seemed disappointed in her answer almost. And... was there anger in his eyes?

"Master...?" Adave took a tentative step forward and he stepped back, his eyes flashing.

"Get out of my sight." He snarled at her. She knew he could get like this. She knew better than to disobey an order. But still she stood, letting her eyes show concern. As swiftly as she would strike to make a kill, she wrapped her arms around him and brought her lips to his, pressing passionately, bringing her body against his. She could feel his shock at first and then he was kissing her back, bringing her even closer to him, his hands tossing back her hood and running his hands through her luxurious raven hair. Before long Tadave felt his lips break from hers, his head moving to her neck, kissing her there, exciting her. His lips were cold against her neck, his breath hot, his fangs sharp. Her heart raced inside of her chest, her blood pulsed loudly throughout her body. She heard her master begin to growl. She braced herself for what was to come next.

He always bit hard. The shock lanced through her sweetly, causing her to gasp in both pain and ecstasy. She could feel her blood being from her into her master's mouth, him suckling her neck almost fervently. The feeling was intense and she could feel her head begin to cloud against the intensity. Adave moaned in pleasure, wrapping herself more tightly about her master, craning her neck to give him a better angle to her jugular. Seconds turned to minutes in that time. But it was never long enough for Adave. Before long he had broken contact from her, ending her pleasure as he was satisfied. She looked upon her master's face once more.

No longer was it lined and creased but as smooth as silk, his scarlet eyes now gone and replaced with sapphires. They sparkled like diamonds in the sun, clearer than the most pure of water. His fangs had receded, showing perfectly straight pearl white teeth. No longer did he look the part of a monster, but a gentleman, perhaps of noble lineage. Adave considered him wonderful, but she always considered him wonderful no matter what stage of his affliction he was in. Before she could stop herself, she said it.

"I love you, Vallus Victrix." As soon as she uttered the words she felt a strike against her cheek, a blow so powerful she was knocked to her knees.

"You DARE?" Her master roared, kicking her in the chest. She felt a rib crack as she was flung to the floor, her mind still cloudy from the loss of blood. She felt his hand grasping her hair, pulling at it, bringing her back to her feet. He grabbed her shoulders and threw her into the pillar behind her, Adave's head slamming into the stonework and causing stars to appear in her vision. Once more her master's knife was pressed to her neck. She could feel it's enchantment, causing her fear, paralyzing her, knowing to resist was hopeless. Still, against this she looked into the Listener's eyes, the beautiful sapphires in the snarl etched with murder.

"I love you." She said again. She did not care what happened next. His expression softened.

"And I, you." He said before plunging the blade into her gut.

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><p>Cassius sat in his private bedroom in the priory, as silent as the grave. He stared at the book in his hands, trying to decipher the higher meaning in it. There had to be. Had he not followed these commands to the letter? Was he not a loyal servant to his gods? Did they not choose <em>him <em>and him alone to safeguard Tamriel in Their name? He looked once more to the book, seeking guidance and understanding. He looked to where he had failed in his gods.

_1. Stendarr says: Be kind and generous to the people of Tamriel. Protect the weak, heal the sick, and give to the needy.  
>2. Arkay says: Honor the earth, its creatures, and the spirits, living and dead. Guard and tend the bounties of the mortal world, and do not profane the spirits of the dead.<br>3. Mara says: Live soberly and peacefully. Honor your parents, and preserve the peace and security of home and family.  
>4. Zenithar says: Work hard, and you will be rewarded. Spend wisely, and you will be comfortable. Never steal, or you will be punished.<br>5. Talos says: Be strong for war. Be bold against enemies and evil, and defend the people of Tamriel.  
>6. Kynareth says: Use Nature's gifts wisely. Respect her power, and fear her fury.<br>7. Dibella says: Open your heart to the noble secrets of art and love. Treasure the gifts of friendship. Seek joy and inspiration in the mysteries of love.  
>8. Julianos says: Know the truth. Observe the law. When in doubt, seek wisdom from the wise.<br>9. Akatosh says: Serve and obey your Emperor. Study the Covenants. Worship the Nine, do your duty, and heed the commands of the saints and priests.  
>10. The Nine say: Above all else, be good to one another.<em>

Cassius shook his head and set the book aside. He knew these commands by heart. He knew he had followed them to the letter. Never once did he stray away from the path of the righteous. He even took the sacred pilgrimages to show his steadfast dedication. At the end of each road, he was rewarded by the Nine visiting him, bestowing upon him praise. They said he was their champion, the one chosen to lead. He had defeated the foul Umaril from invading at the same time as another one touched by the Nine stopped the Daedric Prince Mehrunes Dagon from entering from Oblivion. Cassius himself was there with his knights in the Imperial City as the Prince of Destruction and his minions ransacked it. They cut a path to the Temple of the One, and Cassius saw with his own eyes the avatar of Akatosh Himself do battle with the foul creature. Afterward he could hear the Nine thank him for his efforts, and praised his faith. Surely something so simple as an affliction would not cause Them in all Their divine wisdom to cast him aside? After all those pilgrimages...

Cassius gasped and stood from his chair_, _a plan forming in his mind. He quickly grabbed the veil he had made from an old shirt and tied it about his head with a bandanna. Only his eyes were seen through the cloth, and only they betrayed his status as a monster. He quickly strode from the room, down the stairs into the main room of the priory. There the knights gathered at the longtable, feasting upon a fine-cooked meal. The savory smells of boar and spices wafted toward him, the cloth not doing much to block out his sense of smell. Cotton was stuffed in his ears to deafen him to the world as much as his now super-sensitive hearing would allow. And despite himself, Cassius could now feel the blood of his knights as they laughed in merriment, the brothers Geimund and Gukimir entertaining them all with jokes and anecdotes from their native Skyrim. Cassius harrumphed and suddenly they were silent, staring at their commander.

He addressed them as one. "My fellow Knights, as you know I have been in deep meditation regarding my situation. I regret to say that I do not yet have an answer." He paused. "However, I must say that I have a solution. One that I hope will not be a quest in vain..." He trailed off, distracted. At his words their pulses quickened. He was truly their leader, their champion, their Lord Crusader. They would follow him to Oblivion and back. Unfortunately, he must do this alone.

"I shall embark on another Pilgrimage, across all of Cyrodiil." He told them, his voice steadfast and calm. "I shall walk with the reverence I held so many years ago when I embarked on this quest. I could feel the Nine with me then, though I did not know it. Perhaps this is a test of will. The Nine guide and shape our fates; nothing is beyond Their power. Perhaps this is but a test to show my faith." He paused again, letting the idea sink into them. "Therefore, I shall walk this holy path once more in the hopes that my show of faith shall release me from this curse." He explained, hearing the truth in his own words. This was the way. Soon he would be free from this affliction, and free to continue the will of the Nine.

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><p><strong>Author's Note: If you have any questions, comments, concerns, complaints, or smartass remarks just click away below.<br>**


	4. Consolation and Prayer

**Author's Note: Yes, I know I update rather quickly. Unfortunately I'm becoming disappointed in the length. I hope it's not too short or rushed for some people's likings. Oh well, it is what it is. Read, and enjoy.**

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><p>The Redguard stood calm and complacent before Jesan, the half-Breton a few yards away. He had considered a new theory involving the body, a theory in which he would attempt as of now. The ring on his finger hummed with power, bringing forth even more magicka into Jesan as he considered what he would do. He lifted his arms toward the tanned human, facing his palms outward as he lanced magicka from his body toward his new subject. The magicka connected with the other threads throughout the cave, absorbing them on their lightninglike path to the Redguard.<p>

The threads of magicka hit Jesan's subject, visible only to the mage himself. He could feel the magicka snake through the Redguard in an instant. The mage twisted and shaped the magicka throughout his subject, driving into his muscles, his organs, his blood. He did not charge the threads; he merely increased their power. Raw magicka surged throughout his subject, causing him to shake despite his calm demeanor. The Redguard practically vibrated where he stood. Jesan could feel the magicka throughout his subject. He could control it entirely. Not just movement, but the shape and size itself. He could twist it and contort it however he pleased. The Redguard appeared to bulge with power, looking as if to burst.

Suddenly having an idea, Jesan surged all the magicka through his subject's body to his head, increasing it's power to new heights. With the force of the magicka inside his skull, the Redguard's head burst apart in an explosion of blood, brain matter, and bone fragment. Now quite dead, his headless body crumpled to the floor. Jesan chuckled and murmered a sound of interest, turning to regard the frantically scribbling quill, wondering how else he could implement this new discovery. Still, he was not done yet.

He now looked to the subject lying upon the table. The Orc was nude; he needed to be. Not even moving from his position Jesan brought the threads of magicka surrounding him together, focusing them into the Orc. Using the chain effect as before Jesan hardened the air around the Orc, moving the particles about the green-skinned brute, effectively lifting him into the air. Now Jesan concentrated. What he would try now would be a procedure unlike any ever recorded. His ring thrummed with power on his finger, reminding him he had the means to conduct this. Focusing upon the Orc, he began.

He used the magicka about the Orc like a blade, slicing an incision from the top of his head down his face, to his neck, across his torso, taking care only to sever the flesh. A thin trail of red became revealed wherever the magicka cut, although no blood seeped from the incisions. Jesan forced the magicka inside of the Orc to hold the blood inside as he operated. Before long the magicka had wrapped its way around his subject, a perfect line across his body. Shifting the magicka once more Jesan peeled away the flesh, using the threads to lift the skin from muscle and sinew where need be. Before long the Orc's putrid flesh had dropped to the floor, leaving the Orc with only muscle and bone underneath it. The Orc looked slimy in the torchlight, but it mattered not. Before long nothing more would for the brute. Alas, Jesan still had research to do before he could experiment further. With a sigh he set the Orc upon the table once more, striding forward, disappointed his theory could not be proven just yet.

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><p>Cassius brought the heavy steel shield to bear against the bandit's blade, forcing it to the side and throwing the bandit off balance. With practiced ease he thrusted into the Khajiit's chest, the steel longsword easily puncturing his leather armor. Quickly extracting his blade protruding from the bandit's back he turned to face his other attacker. He saw the Imperial swing his mace toward Cassius' head in time to duck, striking out with his shield. The blow caught the bandit in his stomach, doubling him over. With an overhead strike Cassius easily decapitated his foe, his unnatural strength and speed evident in his movements.<p>

His next foe was more experienced than his comrades. The Wood Elf may have been smaller than his companions, but Cassius could see he was much more agile. He wielded shortswords in both hands, looking as if they were of Dwemer make. The bronze and steel of the blades glinted in the light of their fallen torches, Cassius having surprised them inside of the cave. The chainmail he adorned was light enough not to restrict his movements, but wouldn't hold much protection against those kinds of blades. The Dwemer had made their weapons to puncture through any armor inferior to their own, which was many. The mer looked as if he had seen combat before, readying a stance before Cassius. He had observed Cassius fighting already; he knew what to expect. But Cassius had a few tricks up his sleeve.

Thrusting his palm out Cassius shot a small fireball at the Wood Elf, causing him to roll to avoid the flame. Cassius charged, driving his blade down before the mer could get back to his feet fully. The Wood Elf was able to cross his blades just in time, deflecting the deadly steel away from him. He caught the crusader's blade in between his own and twisted, but Cassius expected it. He reversed the spin, freeing his blade and then driving it into the mer's neck. His eyes nearly bugged out of his head. A moment later he lay still, the stench of his blood permeating through the chamber. Cassius sheathed his blade, sitting atop a rock that was not splattered with blood.

It had been only a day since he had left the priory and his knights behind him. He had gathered a suit of chainmail in lieu of the Crusader's Relics, a fine steel longsword, and a heavy shield made of steel that felt lighter than it should have. In the short span of time since he left he had been able to reach three of the Nine's wayshrines, each one dedicated to a different god. His vampirism allowed him speed that he never had before, and despite his disgust in what he had become he had to admit it had its uses. He knelt and prayed to each wayshrine, receiving nothing in return, only silence. Still, he was confident at the end of this journey he would be rewarded. The Nine had always said that if the wicked repented, they shall be rewarded for their penance.

Cassius suddenly felt movement near him. Drawing his blade was again he sprang to his feet, only to find the bandit he had dispatched of earlier. The Khajiit crawled toward his longsword, sputtering and coughing. As much as Cassius tried not to, he could smell the blood in the air even against the cotton shoved into his nose. It was the sweetest aroma. It called to him. He could feel the bandit's wound flowing, the scarlet liquid wasting onto the cave's floor. The smell permeated his head, clouding his mind. A snarl crept to his lips under the veil. He found himself striding over to the bandit, clutching his throat in a vice-like grip. The Khajiit began to gargle, trapped in Cassius' hands. The crusader could nearly taste the blood upon his lips, the sweet liquid sliding down his throat. He began to lower his head to the bandit's neck, hearing the fearful pulse in that sweet, pulsing artery...

Suddenly Cassius snarled again and flung himself away from the bandit, forcing magicka out of his palm and into the helpless bandit. A bolt of lightning struck him, instantly killing him. Cassius yelled out in the cavern, ripping his helm off of his head and throwing it at the adjacent wall. He almost succumbed to what he had feared most. How long would it be like this? How long would he have to suffer this torment? He would not succumb to the temptation. He would resist as long as he could. He had spent years battling the creatures he had now become. He would not become like them. He swore it. Even if he had to take his own life, he would not become a monster. He bowed his head in prayer.

"My divine gods," He whispered into the darkness of the cavern. "I know not why you seek to punish me after years of faithful service as this is how I see it so: punishment. I know not what I committed to earn your wrath, for a curse this great must surely be a sign of Your anger. I can only hope that you can see the faith in my heart underneath the curse of my flesh... by You will I live, and by Your word I die. I can only hope to reattain your favor once more, whatever it is I have done. Amen." And with that, he rose once more, hearing more bandits deeper in the cave.

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><p>Tadave awoke in her bedchamber, her stomach still sore from where her master had pierced her. She looked about her chambers and saw a small note, furled into a scroll. She picked it up and undid the black ribbon about it, her heart racing to see the Listener's handwriting. The note was simple.<p>

_My Dear Silencer,  
>I have business that awaits me. I shall be gone for a few days. Keep our sanctuary safe until my return.<br>Vallus_

Below that it was stamped with the insignia of the Black Hand. Tadave already had a suspicion on what business would cause her master to leave his sanctuary for days. She found distaste in her mouth as she thought of the King of Worms. Arrogant bastard. She still had yet to know why her master helped him. Tadave would not believe that her master was a pawn of the necromancer, but... he left a horrible taste in her mouth. A taste of filth and bile. She had never had a problem with necromancy, it was rather useful and practical for torment of a target. But the man himself... a tall and pompous s'wit, the pure embodiment of his Altmer heritage. He had taken the name Mannimarco, but he was _not_ Mannimarco; the name was merely another title such as King of Worms. The true King of Worms ascended to something akin to godhood during the Dragon Break. The next Mannimarco was merely a powerful lich, an intelligent being knowing when to strike during the time when the barriers of Tamriel were weak. That King of Worms was slain by the current Arch-Mage. However, there were rumors that it had left him quite... unbalanced. Tadave did not know the details, only the mere rumors she heard spoken in inns and taverns as she passed through.

He was an enigma to her, ever since the day they had met. It was because of him she was still alive. And from that day forth, she promised herself to him. There, in the darkness of the new moons, she pledged herself to him, and only him. She loved the Night Mother, she revered Sithis, but... there was only Vallus Victrix in her heart. At least she was confident that no matter how he showed it, he loved her too...

The thought made her heart sing more. She felt almost exuberant. The rest her master had provided her left her feeling refreshed after being drained. She was in a rare mood. Smiling to herself, she bent to her chest and opened it, extracting a paintbrush and a small bottle from it's contents. She stepped over to the easel standing near the wall, a beautiful masterpiece on it's stand. She had acquired it during one of her contracts, admiring it for its beauty depicting the nighttime skylight of Chorrol. A rather beautiful work. She smiled at it as she reached for the small ribcage laying near it, uncorking the bottle with her teeth at the same time. She poured it's contents upon the ribcage, turning the bleached white instantly scarlet.

Humming happily to herself she applied paint to the brush from her makeshift palette, beginning to paint over the masterpiece with blood.

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><p><strong>Author's Note: I wanted to make somebody's head explode, I really did.<br>**


	5. Meetings Under Shadows

**Author's Note: In the spirit of the story that inspired me to start this, I believe some shout-outs are in order here since I've been neglecting PM's.**

**DualKatanas: Thank you for catching me on my mistakes, as soon as I feel up to it I will go through and correct the offending words and passages. And yes, my characters are quite... different, to say the least. Makes for a much interesting story, yes? And oh, Jesan was going to make his entire body explode. I just think heads are so much better to pop. Brain matter makes everything fun!  
><strong>

**Arty Thrip: Let us hope this never becomes rushed. I certainly don't plan on it. And I thought you would find humor in someone's head exploding, I rather enjoyed writing that. By the way, kudos for catching where I got the idea of her painting with blood; after all, they ARE located in Deepscorn Hollow (Crimson Scars hint hint).**

**Lacking-in-name: I thank you for your kind words. This is my first foray into fanfiction itself and I hope I'm crafting the story well.**

**Enough with my incessant prattling, let's get back to what you came here for.  
><strong>

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><p>Cassius could hear the blood of the people in the inn. It was... riveting. It was a siren song, calling out to him with a before unbeknownst grace. He could hear every heartbeat, hear the rush through every vein, every artery. He could hear it as they moved, quietly eating their meals, the slow babble of their talk reaching him dully, his ears only focused open the blood in their body, pulsing louder than it should in the quiet of the inn. He could smell it, sweeter than anything he had ever had in all of his senses. It seemed to fill him. He found himself craving it. He could feel the warmth of their bodies collecting in the room, warmer than the sun he could no longer venture in. He could sense all the patrons of the inn in all of his senses. Except...<p>

One man was different. One man did not pulse. His blood did not stir a beat. It lay there, dormant. Dead. He did not feel... _alive._ He reeked of death and decay and yet he sat there at the table alone, quietly eating his meal with his head bowed. He was cold; no warmth at all. Cassius could feel him breathing, but there was no heat in his breath. No rise and fall of his lungs. No beating of his heart. He was different from them all. Cassius eyed him as best as he could from across the room, trying to not look suspicious. The crusader had never been much in espionage. He realized that around others he was rather conspicuous with his veil. The keeper of the inn, the Roxey just northeast of the Imperial City, asked him about it. Cassius explained to him that it was to cover up old wounds, feeling his own words carry a trancelike quality to them. Rather in a daze the Nord said she would no longer ask about it, and give him a discount on meals and a bed for his troubles.

The man shifted in his seat, the black hood that covered his face drawing up more. The Imperial was garbed in simple traveler's gear, a dark shirt with wide black pants, but clad in a strange pair of fur boots that seemed to glow with enchantment. Settled next to him was a fine longbow made of steel, also seeming to glow with enchantment, along with the jeweled copper amulet about his neck and the brass ring on the middle finger of his right hand. He looked capable. There was something familiar about him...

Still doubtful, Cassius picked up his meal from his table and crossed over to the other man's table. He sat it down at the stranger's table. The man did not seem perturbed at all. It was as if he was expecting Cassius to do so before he even did it. He did not look up from his meal, the hood still shrouding his face.

"May I help you, stranger?" he asked to his mutton.

Cassius hesitated a moment. "Vallus?" he asked the man quietly.

With something resembling anger the Imperial looked from his meal, his eyes flashing before softening, realization and confusion in his normally cold eyes.

"Cassius?" he asked the crusader in a shocked whisper.

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><p>It was not often that Jesan visited Steelhall Castle. His last visit had not been for many months, since before the winter. Now the spring of Rain's Hand was in the air. Jesan could hear the wind rustle the tall grass and make the few trees whipser quietly. Birds soared through the air, guided along by the warm air current, chirping happily into the sky. Many deer that ventured near the Black Road skipped away upon the mage's approach, their newborn beside them. The liveliness in the Colovian Highlands was palpable, to say the least.<p>

The great fortress sat atop a small hill, a broad stone pathway leading to the great towering structure. Six turrets rose high on the evening skyline, three along the north wall and three along the south, not counting the two directly between the large portcullis before Jesan. The walls were made of finely carved stone, it's battlements appearing as teeth to cut into the sky. Scarlet banners emblazoned with the insignia of the Steel Brotherhood, the moons Masser and Secunda in a circle, a longsword passing through the circle, wings hugging the circle ending at the longsword adorned the strong stone walls, looking unbreakable in any siege. Jesan doubted they could ever be breached.

Jesan could see movement from the ramparts of the fortress, his approach apparently noticed. This was not uncommon; the soldiers there were very observant and protective of their home. Jesan remembered his last visit here came interrupted by bandits that had chosen to attack from a nearby cave. The men were rather quick to put down the attack with brutal efficiency, with no help from Jesan either. Torches flared amidst the gatehouse, a large Redguard man waiting behind the the heavy portcullis. Lifting the hood of his robes from his head, the half-Breton smiled at the Redguard, a smile of recognition on his face.

"Good evening Athon." he greeted the retired Legion officer. "Would the lord of the castle be in?" he asked politely, knowing the answer.

"But of course Sir Jesan." Athon replied, a warm expression on his weathered face. "As soon as we open the gate I'll have one of the men escort you to him, wherever he may be."

Jesan bowed his head slightly, hearing the clinking and clanking of the gears moving as the portcullis rose away from the earth. When they had reached just short of his head Jesan marched through, clasping Athon's gauntleted hand in a firm handshake before accompanying the nearby man-at-arms toward the great hall of the castle on the eastern end, passing the large Dwemer forge in the courtyard before the thatched blacksmith house.

As they entered the large oak doors Jesan was greeted with the stuffed replicas of a great bear, an ogre, and even a daedroth, amongst other trophies. Standing amongst these finely made figures between the two flights of steps flanking either side to the upper level of the hall Jesan began to hear the clash of steel upon steel and the shouting of battle. With a smile he looked at the soldier sent to accompany him.

"I think I know where I shall find the lord," he told the man with a smile.

The Imperial smiled. "No doubt." he chuckled. And with that he exited the hall, leaving Jesan to follow the sounds of a fierce battle to the basement of the castle. Passing a great wine cellar he found a large room in the basement, armor and weapons of all kinds lying about on tables next to training dummies and large straw arrow targets. In the midst of all this, two warriors were locked in battle: a muscular Redguard attired in shining steel armor emblazoned with the Steel Brotherhood crest, alongside his shield, his longsword grasped in hand, all shining with enchantment facing a large and rather brutish Orc in a suit of iron, a large war-axe being brought down upon the Redguard.

The Redguard sidestepped the Orc's attack, lunging with his sword at his green-skinned foe. The Orc was faster than he looked and brought the war-axe up to deflect the blade, a foot kicking out at the Redguard in the same movement. The Redguard dodged the kick, moving toward the Orc with a roar and bashing the greenskin with his shield, causing him to stagger back from the blow. The Redguard swiped at the Orc but the war-axe caught the blade once more, the Orc now moving in himself to deliver a headbutt to the Redguard, iron meeting steel as their helms clashed. Now the Redguard stepped back, dazed from the maneuver. Still, he had the sense to bring his shield up to deflect the Orc's chop from his axe, the steel head seeming to bounce away from the shield.

Now the Redguard twisted his body and kicked at the Orc, his steel boots connecting with the iron breastplate, pushing the Orc back. He swiped once more with his longsword, the steel waraxe meeting it once more with frightening speed. But the Orc was not expecting the Redguard's steel shield to slam into the side of his helm, rattling his brain in the iron enclosure and bringing him to his knees. The Orc soon found the Redguard's blade to his throat, a grim look on his face. He bowed his head in defeat.

"I yield, my lord." he said with humility to the Redguard. Jesan saw the Redguard withdraw his blade and sheath it into the scabbard at his side, a smile now seeable inside the helm.

"You fought well as always, Shagrol. Rest now. You earned it." the Redguard said with a grin to his trainer. The Orc nodded and began removing his armor, a slight smile of his own on his brutish features. Now the Redguard turned to look in the entryway of the training room at Jesan, his smile growing even wider as he removed the helm from his head. He strode over to the mage, his arms held out for an embrace. Jesan held out his own arms, a smirk on his face despite himself.

"Jesan Bellich as I live and breathe!" the Redguard cried as he enveloped Jesan in a hug that threatened to crush him under the steel plating. Still, he returned the embrace, a true smile creeping to his lips.

"How have you been Lord Jonah?" he asked the Redguard roguishly. He felt the laugh under the armor before being pulled away, held at arms length by the strong warrior.

"Since when did you start calling me 'Lord'?" he asked the mage.

"Since I felt like throwing you off you wardog. Always expect the unexpected, right?" he grinned at his old friend. The response was met with a laugh off to the side. A Wood Elf that Jesan had not noticed earlier came into view, attired in a green wool shirt with linen pants, leather bracers upon his forearms and a pair of peculiar red leather boots glowing dimly with enchantment, an enchanted steel cutlass at his side. His long hair was braided into a ponytail and he had a wide grin upon his face, his eyes shining with merriment.

"Ha! When throwing this bastard off becomes an achievement in anything but battle is the day I swear off women and drinking to devote myself to all the gods and saints." he exclaimed amiably, throwing his arms around Jesan in another hug. Jesan laughed at the Bosmer, now pulling him aside for a better look.

"Berenor! Since when did the lord of Steelhall associate with thieves?" Jesan asked Jonah wryly, a grin on his face as Jonah cast his arms aside. The mage heard an incredelous snort from the Bosmer.

"I would have you know that I am nowadays a pirate of sorts." Berenor sputtered, an indignant expression on his face.

"Oh Berenor, we knew of your vice with women but to sink to men..." Jonah said gravely and Jesan burst out laughing, Berenor himself cracking a grin at that.

"Oh, Jonah... you were and always will be an ass." Berenor smiled at the warrior.

"So I should stay away from you for your own safety, lest you become encouraged to continue your mortal sin?" the Redguard asked, shaking with mirth. Jesan's sides were beginning to hurt from his laughter. The Orc trainer merely watched from the other side of the room, shaking his head at the companions antics. Before long Jonah's gauntleted hands were clapping them both on the back, causing them to wince.

"Now come, my friends, and accompany me to the dining area where my chef has prepared a fine meal for us." he said in a regal tone, causing both Berenor and Jesan to chuckle. And with that they headed toward the entrance to the great hall, the three great friends together once more.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: Shock, the man that "experiments" on people has friends? What, you think I'd make him a stereotypical sociopath? Shame on you for trying to think ahead; I don't even know what's going to happen next sometimes haha. For the record the Steelhall castle is supposed to be the Battlehorn Castle from the Fighter's Stronghold plug-in. However... I never downloaded the thing (I play Oblivion for the 360 and I don't have X-Box Live). If there's any inaccuracies in its description (or of anywhere else) please inform me. But for now, let all us Elder Scrolls fic authors take this time to praise the UESP, for without it some of us would be completely lost.<strong>


	6. A Virus of Life

**Author's Note: Yes I know this is rather fast for an update (two in one day? Wow. Maybe I should go to sleep now?) but I needed to get it out. Unfortunately I shifted through major changes, I hope the story doesn't suffer because of my decision. Anyway, enjoy.  
><strong>

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><p>"Vallus? Is it really you?" Cassius asked, shocked to see the Imperial man sitting before him. He nodded.<p>

"Yes Cassius, it is surely I." he replied to the crusader, his eyes receding to chips of ice. Cassius leaned in closer, conscious of the surrounding patrons.

"Is there a place where we may talk in... private?" he asked the hooded man, his voice barely a whisper. Vallus nodded and then nodded his head to the door, indicating the outside. He stood from the table, picking up the bottle of wine atop the table as he did. He strode past Cassius without a second glance. Cassius sat and ate his meal of crab meat stew for another moment before following Vallus outside. He sniffed the woodland air for a moment, the stench of decay in the woodland air leading Cassius to the Imperial's whereabouts. In the stable of the inn was where the crusader found it, gently stroking the mane of a great black horse. Cassius recognized Shadowmere; not many horses were as beautiful. And not many had scarlet eyes to boot.

Vallus regarded Cassius coldly, one hand resting lightly on the longsword at his side. His hood was now tossed back revealing his shoulder-length jet black hair, neatly slicked back and flowing about his head. His eyes were nothing but ice as he gazed at the crusader, the only emotion behind them curiosity.

"I suspect that since you are not charging me with your usual dunderheaded valor and morals you have not come to kill me." Vallus finally said to the crusader, his expression saying nothing more.

"No," Cassius replied. "Our meeting now is merely a coincidence, on my honor."

"Ha!" spat Vallus. "There is no such thing as coincidences, only events being played out."

"The will of the gods." Cassius said sagely.

Vallus snorted. "Fuck your gods." he stated casually. Cassius' hand dropped to his longsword at that.

"Watch yourself, Vallus." he growled at the Imperial, anger flashing into him.

Vallus merely smirked. "Cassius," he sneered. "I could kill you. You of all people know I could. You would be dead and you would never be heard from again. Never found. Not even a trace of ashes to bring back to your precious knights. Do not play games with me." he finished, now regarding the crusader more intently.

Cassius was grim under his veil. "Vallus, you know as well as I do that I would not go down easily, even for you. I know you're a cold, murdering bastard." he told Vallus, taking a step closer. Vallus readied himself, his hand still resting upon his longsword.

"I know you killed many people to get to wherever it is you are now," Cassius continued, moving ever closer to the man. "And I know you would not hesitate to slit my throat in my sleep. You are ruthless. You are brutal. You are everything I'm not." The were close now, each staring the other down, not relenting. "And I know someting else." Cassius told the cold eyes.

"And what would that be?" Vallus asked him, his voice a deadly whisper.

Cassius drew the veil back, revealing his extremely lined and wrinkled visage to the assassin, his scarlet eyes, his fangs. If he was shocked, he did not show it.

"I know you can help your brother out." Cassius explained.

* * *

><p>In the darkness of the Deepscorn Hollow, Tadave wrote. There was only the scratching of her quill against the ink, her thoughts being put onto the paper as fast as her hand would allow it. It was not everyday she wrote poetry; still, she was in one of those moods where her feeling were better expressed with words other than the stroke of a blade carving into the flesh of another, their screams a torrent of wonderful sound to her. She penned the poem, conscious of her thoughts.<p>

_I can see you but you can't see me  
>I could touch you and you wouldn't even feel me<br>If I wait a second I know you'll settle down  
>I'm just waiting 'til you really let your guard down<br>You're relaxed, you're sublime, you're amazing  
>You don't even know the danger that you're facing<br>If I'm quiet, I'll slide up behind you  
>And if you hear me I'll enjoy trying to find you<br>I'm sweating through my veins  
>I'm trying to hold on<br>It's unbearable, it's almost worse for me  
>I'm going to tear you apart<br>I'm going to make you see  
>It's almost time to play<br>It's time to be afraid  
>I can't control the pain<br>I can't control in vain  
>Oh gods I'm ready now<br>You're almost ready now  
>I'm going to love you now<br>I'm going to break you down  
>I see you in the dark<br>I see you all the way  
>I see you in the light<br>I see you plain as day  
>I want to touch your face<br>I want to touch your soul  
>I want to wear your face<br>I want to break it all_

She took a knife laying upon the table, slicing open the tip of her finger and signing her signature onto the paper. Setting it down she brought the paper to her lips, smiling as she did. Then she brought magicka to her fingertips, heating the parchment as she did.

"You are mine." she whispered into the darkness, heard by no one as the paper went up in flames in her hands.

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><p>Jesan sat around the table in the private chambers of Steelhall with his companions, sitting on his cushioned chair as Jonah leaned on the table, his armor finally off and resting on a stand near them, Berenor resting his chari on two legs, leaning back contentedly in his plush chair puffing upon a pipe filled with tobacco. The sweet aroma filled the air as his companions chatted, having a heated discussion on Berenor's profession.<p>

"No, no, no, I'm a pirate now don't you see?" he told Jonah after a comment made over whether he was a thief or not.

"Oh, really?" Jonah asked in an amused voice. "And what would the name of your ship be?"

"The Black Flag." the Bosmer replied proudly. "Finest vessel ter ever sail the seas."

"Isn't that ship sunk in a cove somewhere near Anvil?" Jesan couldn't resist commenting. Berenor glowered at him. Jonah snorted a laugh.

"Well... yes and no..." Berenor started, face reddening while Jonah let out another laugh. "I'll have you know that I have plans to get her back on task as the true terror she is."

"Oh, really?" Jonah asked. "Hopefully sometime this century, I would just love to hear about your exploits. How many times have we bailed you out of jail again?"

"Oh I love hard questions." Jesan chuckled as Berenor himself smiled. The mer knew how to take a joke by now. "Let me think... ten?"

"Twenty?" Jonah supplied?

"Thirty times?"

"I think just over one hundred would be a safe guess..." Jonah laughed as Jesan accompanied him.

"Don't be stupid," came Berenor chuckling. "We never had that kind of money." The three fell in laughing together. When it was over, Jesan sighed and wrapped magicka in the world about a glass of wine on the table. He brought the full glass to his hand, its contents full of a light amber. He took a sip and found it pleasant to the taste, feeling the alcohol slide down his throat on the way to his belly. He found his tongue suddenly loosened, as if he could say more more carefully than he ever could. He glanced over at Jonah. The Redguard was smiling at him, a pleased expression on his face.

"Like it?" he asked the mage, Jesan nodding his assent. "That's called sparkling honeydew, a fine wine made by my own personal vintner, Talan." Jonah said rather proudly.

"Oh, you have your own vintner now?" Jesan asked, a little surprised. Jonah nodded, his smile even wider now.

"Wait a sec... Talan? Tamika's brother?" Berenor asked. Again Jonah nodded.

"Well by the Nine I didn't know we had a celebrity in the castle..." Berenor trailed off, now eying the flask of whiskey in his hand with contempt. He recapped it and placed in inside his shirt once more, regarding the bottle with more intent now. With a shrug he poured himself a glass, having refused to drink anything except from his flask at dinner. With a swig he drained the contents in one gulp, smacking his lips and perking up in his seat from his slouch.

"Oh yeah, damn good wine." he exclaimed. He looked at Jonah again. "And you said he's here? To serve you?" Another nod. "Maybe I'll come visit more often..."

"Well hopefully it's in the daylight and not under the cover of night." Jonah said with a wry smile. At that point Jesan was glad he had come to visit.

Jesan, Jonah, and Berenor had met up when they were younger, each finding the other in some way or another. Eventually they had banded together, traveling the roads of Cyrodiil in search of adventure. They had each adopted each other as brothers despite being so radically different; their friendship was forged in the fires of battle and adventure. For over a year they were inseparable, sharing laughs and sorrow, joys and hardships, good times and bad. They had reminiscenced all throughout the fine dinner prepared by Jonah's personal chef, Plautis Rosanius, the former chef of the Tiber Septim Hotel in the Imperial City. It had been a night of good food, good drink, and good memories. But now the tone grew serious as Jonah turned to regard Jesan in full for the first time since he had gotten here.

"So Jesan," Jonah started, his smile decreased now. "How goes things with the Mage's Guild?"

Jesan shrugged. "Raminus Polus takes care of most things, it's running rather smoothly if you ask me." He said amiably. Jonah's smile didn't increase, however.

"Word has reached me that the Arch-Mage has been known not to be seen from his personal tower for weeks at a time, each stay getting longer and longer." he said gravely.

"Aye," Berenor nodded. "Even in my neck of the woods I've heard that, and I didn't need me crew ta tell me that." He took his legs off the table, his eyes intent on Jesan. The half-Breton merely shrugged.

"What do you want me to say? The Arch-Mage may do what the Arch-Mage may do." he said indifferently.

"No," Jonah started, his eyes seeming to harden. "The Arch-Mage has a responsibility to uphold what with the new stirrings; have you not heard?" Jonah asked. Berenor seemed to be regarding Jesan intently too. The mage wasn't uncomfortable in the slightest.

"Some rumors about a new King of Worms, but that's laughable." Jesan chuckled. "The Arch-Mage slew Mannimarco; he's not coming back."

"But still, the Arch-Mage is needed to run the guild; he took an oath, right?" Jonah pressed, causing Jesan to sigh.

"Look Jonah, it's been... difficult, okay?" Jesan asked, trying to stop the flow of inevitable questions before they could rush in on him. He was conscious of the ring upon his finger again, drawing in magicka from the world into his body. He could feel the ebb and flow of the world in its entirety.

"It's not like ya ter skirt yer duties, Jesan." came Berenor, worry in his voice now. Jesan held up his hands.

"Look, guys." Jesan said forcefully. "I'm fine. Really. I've just been on hiatus for awhile, testing new theories before I brought them to the Council. If you knew how much red tape I had to wade through in order just to make a potion now you'd understand too." He told them, hoping they were satisfied. Of course Jonah wasn't. Leave it to the scout to notice things.

"That's not all Jesan. There have been reports of people missing in the Jerall Mountains. Do you know anything about that?" Jesan shook his head at Jonah's probing question.

"I've been investigating that, strangely enough. It sounds like the work of necromancers or vampires to me, and so close to my tower as well. If it is..." Jesan left the threat unfinished, knowing his companions could fill it in for him. Jonah relaxed, eased with his companions explanation. He nodded and smiled once more, reaching for the bottle of honeydew while inside Jesan's heart was wrenched from having to lie to his proud and honorable friend's face.

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><p><strong>Author's Note: Props if you recognized the song; I most certainly did NOT blatantly rip it off, and the song can not be found here at .comwatch?v=QoKwV00YMsU . However the rights DO belong to Slipknot and Roadrunner Records... no matter how much I paraphrased the damn thing better safe than sorry, right? Next time it'll be original unless I honestly can't think of anything. Suits her though, I think. Shows a whole new side to that "love" thing.  
><strong>


	7. Keep Your Friends Close

**Author's Note: Another shout-out to Lacking-in-name for their encouraging words. I would suggest that they receive a name of their own.  
><strong>

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><p>Tadave lay in her master's Garden of Venomgrowth naked, her light ash-skinned body stretched taught amongst the many poisonous plants growing in the earth of the dim cave. Gently she caressed a stalk of nightshade with her forefinger. Many years of training had made her immune to most poisons, all those but the most rare. The Listener was an accomplished alchemist, able to make any poison from the plants amongst the garden with ease. She had yet to attain his skill; she was a nightblade, after all. Still, a few of her duties while her master was away from the Hollow was to tend to the garden; she did so lovingly, showing her own special care to the plants. Her hand reached down to her side, retrieving a knife lying among the plants. She pressed the blade to her forearm, feeling the steel bite into her flesh. She hissed in ecstasy as she drew blood, a small stream of scarlet running down to her elbow. Gracefully standing to her feet she held her arm out over the multiple flowers and fungi in the small cluster, letting her blood drip from her arm to the ground below, the scarlet fluid splattering onto the leaves of the plants. She smiled, knowing she was doing her master proud. He had saved her, after all. It was the least she could do.<p>

* * *

><p>Jesan stood atop the battlements of Steelhall, breathing in the fresh night air. His companions stood beside him, leaning on the great stone walls. Masser and Secunda were both almost full high above them, casting a pale glow upon the landscape of the Colovian Highlands in the midnight hour. They looked to the east, Chorrol visible before them, a darker mass amidst the night. Jesan heard Jonah sigh.<p>

"If I were an artist, I would use this moment to capture the unrivaled and unparalleled beauty around us..." Jesan heard the Redguard warrior murmer. Berenor snorted and turned to look at his friend.

"Why is it that the most skilled of us in battle is also the most poetic?" he asked, a small smile on his face. Jonah shrugged.

"Why is it that the one most likely to spend the rest of his life in chains is still among us?" he asked the Bosmer, the same smile upon his face. Berenor shrugged in return and they all continued to gaze out to the countryside.

"This remains me of countless nights we shared years ago..." Jesan told his companions. Jonah nodded.

"'Member that time we climbed Dive Rock?" Berenor asked, nostalgia in his voice. "And that journal we found at the camp from that bloke from Solstheim?"

"And finding the creature that killed the both of them?" Jesan asked, remembering.

"What a battle..." Jonah murmered. "Remember that farmer we found who asked us to wipe out that goblin cave?" Jesan nodded while Berenor sighed.

"Goddamn little bastards..." he said rubbing a hand on his side. "We never did heal it in time fer it not ta scar," he said, eying Jesan.

"I ran out of magicka," the mage said simply.

"Perfect timin' too..." Berenor growled. Jonah laughed.

"Remember that time in Anvil when you Berenor had all his possessions stolen from him by those two lovely women?" he asked Jonah, both grinning at that and looking at the Bosmer. He flushed.

"Why wouldja bring that up?" he moaned. His two companions began laughing.

"Berenor, you have no idea how funny it was for you to come to us at the inn completely naked and as trashed as the streets of Bravil." Jonah choked out. Jesan put his hand on Jonah's shoulder.

"'The beautiful people're all thieves!'" he cried out, imitating Berenor's voice and they laughed even harder, their cries carrying out into the night. The Bosmer just looked to the ground, looking disheartened. Jonah cast his arm over the pirate's shoulder.

"You know we merely jest my lovable rogue," he said gently.

"I know," Berenor replied. "I was just realizin' that soon we'll all leave again, gettin' back ta what we all have ta do..." he finished rather sadly. Jonah's smile faded and he held his friend closer. Jesan felt his heart sink at the Bosmer's words. He always knew how to make a situation clear.

"I miss this," he told his two companions. Jonah nodded, then reached for the bottle of wine they had brought up here. The warrior took the three glasses beside it and poured an equal measure in all three. He handed each to his companions, taking one for himself.

"A toast," he called out. "To good memories, and to good friends. May it never end." he finished, raising his glass.

"May it never end," the other two agreed, clinking their glasses together.

* * *

><p>Vallus crept over his sleeping brother's form, the Blade of Woe in hand. He stank of decay; he had obviously not been feeding since he had turned. The assassin thought back to their conversation in the stable. Cassius had asked him if there was a way to reverse the affliction.<p>

"Not that I know of..." he had told him. Cassius seemed urgent.

"Please, brother... you must know of something," was the reply laced with annoyance. If he did not stink of death Vallus knew he would have smelt anger. Vallus could only shake his head, keeping himself neutral, not betraying anything. Cassius stormed off back to the inn at that, placing the veil back across his face.

Now Vallus stood over him with his knife, the tip pointed directly over his brother's heart. He should have killed him in the stables but there Cassius was more alert then, as well as armored. It had not been too long for Vallus to forget what his brother was capable of in close quarters. But now he was asleep, and thus helpless. Vallus should have had him killed, his mercy was a moment of weakness. Now he would do the deed himself. The King of Worms would have to do without him; a manageable feat he was sure.

Vallus plunged the blade down only to feel a vice-like grip upon his wrist, his brother's eyes snap open. In a flash Vallus was kneeling upon the ground, a foot on the back of his knee, Cassius behind him with his arm in a lock, the blade lying upon the hardwood floor.

"I do not know why you are trying this," Cassius hissed in his ear, his breath cold against Vallus' cheek. "But knowing you there is some ulterior motive. You always were a sneaky bastard, Vallus." Cassius growled his name.

Vallus was trapped in the grip of his brother, defenseless. He knew it was only because of his brother's sense of honor he did not kill him now. Still, his eyes remained cold.

"You are a threat," Vallus told him. "Threats must be eliminated."

"But you never always eliminated just threats did you?" Cassius whispered viciously. "I've heard rumors, Vallus, and even if no one else can speak of it I know who listens to the Night Mother's foul tongue." Vallus felt the grip tighten, his arm being pulled higher against his back.

"Do not dishonor the Night Mother," Vallus hissed against the pain. "If I remember, the man I knew-"

"The man you knew is dead, Vallus."

"Still torn about what I did?" Vallus said cruelly, receiving a blow to his head that reeled him for that remark.

"I will never forgive you for what you did to her," was Cassius' deadly whisper. Vallus laughed despite the agony of his arm about to be broken at the hands of his brother.

"She's in a better place," Vallus chuckled, another blow making him see stars. Suddenly he felt his own blade being pressed against his neck, the Blade of Woe, a gift from the Night Mother herself. Fear exploded in him at it's touch. He knew it was hopeless, he could feel his strength to fight ebbing. His own brother would slice his throat open as easily as he had disarmed him. And as soon the fear had entered him, it left with the removal of the blade and the release of his arm. Vallus felt himself being thrown to the floor. He turned to look at his brother, the veil clouding his expression but for his eyes. His eyes burned with rage at Vallus... and hatred. Now he regarded the Blade of Woe in his hand, recognizing the ebony dagger. He flung it at Vallus.

"Take this vile weapon and leave my sight or you shall know no mercy," the former Divine Crusader growled. Vallus picked up the weapon and sheathed it, backing towards the door.

"Never forget what we were my dear brother."

"The gods changed that for me," was Cassius' convicted reply. Vallus closed the door quietly, moving quickly back to his room, happy to have escaped the encounter with his life.

Back in his room, Cassius shook with anger. He knew his brother was a conniving and deceitful bastard, he had always been. Cassius thought that he could put aside his anger at his brother, that his years of service and piety to the gods would let him cast it aside. And still his mind burned whenever he thought of what he had done to that poor, innocent woman. What he had done was unforgivable. He may as well have killed her; she was never the same after that, never again the woman he had known. Even now he could see her smiling face, her eyes sparkling with life, her lips luscious and red, as sweet as sugar. He closed his eyes, remembering how she had been after Vallus was through with her.

"My beautiful, sweet Tadave..." he whispered into the night, wanting to cry, his undead body not allowing him to.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: Rather shorter than my usual length, I know. I'll make it up to you next chapter.<strong>


	8. In Light And Darkness

**Author's Note: It's going to get dark. Very dark. I'm going for broke now. You have been warned.**

* * *

><p>Jesan didn't feel like leaving Steelhall. It had become a sort of second home to him, he had grown to know and respect all of it's inhabitants. He stood in the great hall surrounded by the trophies of Jonah's many kills, with the warrior himself and Berenor standing beside him. An air of reluctance was about them; none of them wished the others to depart. Berenor spoke first.<p>

"Every time I leave this place I feel like I'm leavin' home..." he stated sadly. Jesan nodded in agreement.

"You could always stay, you know." Jonah offered, but Berenor shook his head.

"And leave the poor fools trapped in a cave withou' me? I wish I could, Jonah, but I have ta get back to me crew." Berenor replied, a smile on his normally cheerful lips. Jonah nodded and looked sadly at Jesan.

"I won't even ask you... I'll assume you'll head to the University after this..." he trailed off, more of a question than anything. Jesan also nodded sadly but didn't say anything. Suddenly they heard footsteps flying from down the halls near the private quarters, a shout ringing throughout the great hall.

"Uncle Jesan! Uncle Berenor! Wait!"

Jesan looked up to the stairs to see a small Redguard boy of about five slowly descend the stairs, one step at a time. Before long the boy was on the ground floor, rushing Jesan as fast as he could. The boy nearly tackled him, causing him to be pushed back a step. With a smile he lifted the child up in his arms and spun in a circle, the boy giggling.

"Jax you little rascal! I thought you had come down with something!" Jesan smiled happily at the child's beaming face.

"I got better," was the boy's reply. "I don't want you to leave, I want you to stay here with me and daddy." Jesan's smile faltered at that. He set the boy down and he promptly rushed Berenor, the boy coming up to the Bosmer's shoulder. He hugged the pirate tight, Berenor doing the same.

"It's good ta see ya again laddy," he said, ruffling the boy's hair. The boy chuckled.

"You still talk funny Uncle Berenor," he said bluntly, causing Jesan and Jonah to laugh. Berenor glared at them for a moment before kneeling to be eye-level with the young Redguard.

"Tha' may be true, laddy," Berenor mock-growled. "But I also still know how ticklish ya are!" he cried out, hands shooting to the child's side, causing him to double up in giggles before breaking away, backing towards his father who lifted him up and placed him on his shoulders. He looked up to his boy above his head.

"They have to go, son," he told his boy with finality. "But we'll see them again. They already promised." They had, after all.

Before anyone could say anything else, the doors to the great hall were slammed open. A Steelhall man-at-arms stood in the doorway, an urgent expression on his face.

"Lord Jonah, Castellan Athon calls for you! A large complement of men approach the castle!" he cried out. Jonah swung his young boy from his perch, his expression hardening. Jax looked worriedly up at his father, the same expression evident on his face.

"Tell Athon I will be armed and ready in a few minutes," he told the soldier, picking up his boy and heading up the stairs. Jonah deposited him at the door of his bedroom amidst the wails of wanting to head outside. Jesan couldn't help but notice the disposition of both father and son. But this sort of activity wasn't new, and before long they marched into Jonah's private quarters, the warlord beginning to fasten and buckle the set of armor from it's stand.

"Did I ever tell you how grateful I am for this armor, Jesan?" he asked as he slid on the cuirass.

"Every time you wear it?" Jesan replied with a smirk. Jonah nodded.

"And I mean it every time."

"Well who's the one that got half the gold ta make that happen?" Berenor piped up.

"Me?" Jonah answered. "All the gold you gave me went to good wine," the warrior laughed.

"Oh you're a right bastard ain't ya Jonah?" Berenor grumbled. Before long Jonah was fully attired, his plate mail shining brilliantly and glowing with enchantment. Resting beside the armor stand was a shield emblazoned with the Steelhall crest and a sword in its scabbard, a different blade than from what Jonah used while training. He tied the scabbard about his waist, in easy arms reach for his sword hand. Strapping the shield to his forearm, he regarded his companions.

"Wait here," he said grimly. "This will not take long."

"Ya must've taken too many blows to the head, wardog." Berenor grumbled, his hand resting on the cutlass at his side.

"Jonah if you think for one moment we're staying behind for this, I would think you've been getting into the wine this morning before we awoke," Jesan told him, better adjusting the ring on his finger. Jonah smiled at the both of them.

"On last encounter, then," he said rather brightly, placing the helm upon his head. "So be it then. The adventurers three are united once more!" he cried out, a smile visible beneath his helm. Quickly they left the private quarters, into the great hall, and out into the courtyard of Steelhall. The Dwemer forge burned as it always did to their right, the two companions following Jonah to the ramparts overlooking the western wall. They passed the soldiers of Steelhall readying for battle, testing bowstrings, sharpening blades, checking each other's armor. Before long they stood before the portcullis, Castellan Athon and two men-at-arms awaiting them. At the end of the stone road stood a group of about fifty men, a motley collection of all races. Most appeared to be light armored and hung in the back; archers. Jesan cast a glance at Jonah.

"Say the word and I could wipe them all out right now," he told the warrior. Jonah merely shook his head, a strange expression in his eyes. Jesan knew that expression. It was one of battle lust.

"No, Jesan," the Redguard said softly. "They came here for my home, my livelihood... I will show them that Lord Jonah of Steelhall does not back down." Jesan nodded, knowing his role would be less in the coming battle.

"Ya always were a bloodthirsty bastard, Jonah," Berenor muttered quietly. Jonah only smiled under his helm.

"Open the gates."

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><p>Cassius sat at the table with his head lolling back, high as the stars on moon sugar. He had snorted a few lines, the sensation of the sugar exploded into him with easy access to his brain. He felt a rush, spiraling upwards, going ever higher and higher. He could almost see Masser and Secunda before him; he could almost touch them, taste them, hold them in his hands. The world was in the palms of his hands and the responsibility caused him to not be able to move. He grinned at the thought of taking the moons and casting them down upon the world, destroying it. He could do it, if only he could move...<p>

He felt a hand shaking him roughly. Propably that Argonian bastard that always told him to do him a favor. Cassius never remembered what it was, but he knew he hated the favor. It was only when he was high that scaly prick asked him to; still, Cassius did it because the lizard man promised him more sugar, and he guessed he kind of liked it deep down inside. The Imperial rolled over to meet him, only to look upon the face of his little brother Vallus. He shouldn't be here. Cassius couldn't remember why, but he knew he shouldn't be here. He tried to speak.

"Vallus..." the words came foggily through his mind, like they were traveling through a great swamp. "You shouldn't be here... it's a bad place. A fun place for me, a bad place for you..." he trailed off. He saw his little brother shake his head.

"Cassius, you need to come home with me," Vallus told him, the words barely registering.

"Home?" Cassius asked him foggily. "We don't have a home, it was burned to the ground by monsters in black... monsters in black... monsters..." he trailed off, remembering the monsters. The fire, the flames, the screams. He began shivering in fear. He could see the monsters.

"They're coming Vallus!" Cassius cried out, trying to get to his feet. When had he gotten on the floor? He didn't remember. He never remembered much. "Grab daddy's sword, I'll protect us!" he said foggily, making a grab for the dagger on the table. He stumbled and crashed into the table, bouncing off the surface and crashing back to the floor. The world began spinning in pain. Cassius began crying. Suddenly he felt himself being grabbed and shaken. The monsters had found him. They had found him and they were going to kill him, eat his flesh, rip out his intestines and strangle him with them. He wouldn't let that happen. He would protect his family. He would die for his family. He felt his punch land squarely on the monsters jaw, proceeding to get on top of it and pummel it with everything he had, feeling bone crunch under his knuckles, feeling its foul blood upon his fists.

When he looked down at the foul thing below him he saw only his little brother, broken and bruised, blood pouring from his nose and lips, his eyes blackened. His nose looked as if it had been broken, one eye swelled completely shut, his bottom lip pierced by a front tooth, a bloody hole now oozing with gore, tears mixing with the blood on his face causing everything to run.

"Vallus..." Cassius said with horror. "What happened to you?" he asked foggily, not understanding. Did the monsters get to his brother? He'd kill them. No one hurt his little brother like that. He would die for his little brother. They might have taken his mother and father but they would never get his little brother. Never.

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><p>Cassius woke up with horror from the nightmare, starting from his bed. If his body could have done it he knew he would have been in a cold sweat. Even so, his brain was wracked with fear. The dream was a recurring one, but never before had it been shown in such clarity. Even now he could remember what he did, still feel his brother's blood upon his fists...<p>

He shivered despite feeling nothing. He looked to the window outside. He had grown accustomed to waking up extremely early in the morning; it was still dark outside. He swung his legs out of bed and began pulling on his chainmail, thinking to leave the inn before it was too late. He still had a few more wayshrines to go, but he couldn't stay here all day. He would find a nearby cave and settle down there. Coming here had been a mistake. Blood was sounding even tastier by the minute; he needed to leave. Finally buckling his boots he headed out the door of the room, down the stairs, past the common room and out of the door, never even looking back at the inn as he ran quickly through the chilled springtime air.

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><p><strong>Author's Note: I said it would get dark. Major battle scene next chapter, I'll quit leaving you guys hanging.<strong>


	9. Answers In Battle

**Author's Note: A shout-out to those of you that enjoy this and give me encouraging words, I must thank you. And to those of you reviewing, sorry I haven't responded. It has been one hell of a few days... let's just say I want to remember when I got this tattoo. Looks good, though. Anyway, on with the story.  
><strong>

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><p>The portcullis began to raise, gears turning and cranking as it rose from the earth. Jonah looked about at his men, each with a grim expression on their face. They took no attack seriously, Jonah was always quick to remind them it was confidence that could get them killed. Never underestimate any opponent. Jonah strode out to the path, drawing his longsword. The blade looked as if it had just come fresh from the blacksmith's anvil, blazing deadly hot in the early morning sun. Heat emanated from the blade, the ebony hilt rather cold to balance the heat. Once before known as the Dragonsword of Lainlyn, Jonah had rechristened it as his own, naming it simply Flamerend.<p>

The opposing forces began to move, their crude iron armor clanking as they fanned out, showing minor battle tactics. Jonah did not know who they were, nor did he care. Arrows began to fill the air, Jonah's archers and the opposing archers firing as fast as they could. The Steelhall archers were more coordinated, however. Jonah felt an arrow pass right beside him, embedding itself in the neck of a large Orc directly in front of him. The Orsimer toppled over, clutching at the missile. Jonah took that shot up to Berenor; directly before the gates opened he had asked for a bow with a gleam in his eyes.

Steel and iron rang out into the morning as both forces now drew their weapons, raising them high, beginning to charge. Jonah ran out ahead of his men, Flamerend blazing, his armor shining. Directly before him was a large Nord wielding a warhammer, his face a snarl. They closed the gap between them in a few steps, the Nord swinging his hammer down from overhead. Jonah sidestepped the heavy weapon, lunging at the large warrior. The tip of his blade easily pierced the Nord's crude iron cuirass, the tip poking through his back, the steel sword glowing scarlet in the morning sunlight. Jonah extracted the blade from the Nord and pushed his lifeless body away, crumpling to a heap on the ground.

Jonah heard another warcry to his left, an Imperial charging him with another overhead strike. Jonah swung for his sword arm, the blade cleanly slicing his forearm in two. Spinning clockwise on his heel with the momentum of the swing Jonah saw the Imperial's expression of horror before the warrior removed his head from his shoulders in one clean stroke. No blood poured from the hole that had materialized in the Imperial's neck; Flamerend's enchantment instantly cauterized the wound, searing the flesh together after each stroke.

A large Orc bore down on Jonah, swinging a giant claymore from the side. As Jonah completed his spin Flamerend caught the blade, neatly slicing through it. Spinning counter-clockwise on his heel now he slammed his shield into the head of his opponent, reeling the Orc to the side. Another moment later Flamerend passed through the Orc's undefended left side, the blade slicing through the thick armor and skeleton like a literal hot knife through butter. The Orc's legs fell from under him, the rest of his body falling to the earth a moment later. The Orc began screaming in agony before Jonah plunged his sword through his head, silencing him.

Suddenly Jonah felt a blade pierce the back of his pauldron, the shock of pain causing him to drop Flamerend. Jonah felt himself dropping to his knees, now at the mercy of the man that had been invisible the entire length of the battle. Jonah could hear the sounds of his men bravely defending the hall as he felt the assassin's blade enter his throat, ripping it open as he jerked the blade to the side. He could feel the flow of his blood upon his neck as he fell to the ground, growing colder by the second...

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><p>"NO!" Berenor screamed from atop the battlements, seeing the red fountain spraying from Jonah's neck as a man reappeared into visibility, a blade in his grasp. Lightning fast he nocked an arrow into his bow, screaming as he unleashed the missile toward his friend's murderer. A moment later a bolt of lightning flashed from beside Berenor, striking the arrow. With the roar of a thunderclap the projectile passed through the man's head, blowing it apart in an explosion of gore. Blood spouted from his head like a geyser as he dropped, the arrow now blowing apart in a flash, lightning forking from the blast. Every enemy archer and warrior in the area was hit with a burst, frying and charring their flesh instantly inside their iron armor. The remaining thirty attackers continued to jerk and spasm as Berenor leaped from the ramparts, rolling as his feet collided with the earth, dashing madly toward his fallen companion.<p>

He threw aside his bow and fell to his knees at Jonah's side, trying to pull a healing potion from his belt, staring in horror at his friend. His throat had been ripped open entirely, blood flowing freely from the wound, a small pool forming around the warrior. He stared up at the Bosmer, his arm reaching out and grasping him roughly by the collar. He struggled to speak, blood bubbling from his lips. He coughed, a small stream of scarlet splattering on the pirate's cheek. He drew in one rattling breath, gurgling his own blood. As Jonah released it his grip grew slack on Berenor, breathing out one final rattle as his body went limp, his eyes glazing over, his soul on a journey to the land of death.

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><p>Cassius walked through the cool night air, his body crying for blood. He knew now that he needed it if he was going to survive. He could smell it now, it was nearby; fresh, warm, and sweeter than the sugar that dominated his youth. Weakly, he stumbled to a small pool. As he bent down to it, he could see that it is not water in the pool, but warm, fresh blood, steam rising off of it. The aroma was in the air and he could almost taste it upon his lips, sliding down his throat. He lowered his head to drink, but found he could not open his mouth. He realized with horror that his lips had been sewn shut, a pair of cold, white hands reaching out from the pool and drawing him under.<p>

With a start he opened his eyes, grasping for the longsword that always slept beside him, drawing it and swinging into the dry cave air. He dropped it with a clatter and put his head to his hands, his body beginning to shiver. The dreams were becoming worse and worse, some vivid flashbacks, some horrible nightmares like the one he had just had. The crusader thought he was going crazy, or maybe all vampires were like this. Or maybe this was further punishment from the Nine, urging him to continue his Pilgrimage. He had no answers; nobody could help him. He avoided towns and slept in caves, like this one nearing Chorrol. He was still amazed at his new-found speed, marveling at how fast he had traveled in such a short time.

In just two hours he had made it from northeast of the Imperial City to this cave near Chorrol, the sun starting to peak over the horizon as he entered the safety of the caverns. A pride of mountain lions had taken up residence in the cavern, forcing Cassius to put them all down but giving him food for the night and many others besides. He even drank the blood of the last lion before it had grown cold; he could not resist now. Surely the gods would forgive him if it kept him alive? But he dared not drink the blood of humans. He swore to himself it would never come to that. But perhaps he would never need to worry about that again. Soon he would be before the Nine once more.

He decided that tomorrow night, he would complete his Pilgrimage. And in that time, he would have the answer he seeked.

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><p><strong>Author's Note: I know, short. But I wanted to just update and get it done with, this took too long for me to write honestly. I'm running out of ideas, I think. I think that soon I will make a separate fic involving everyone's time during the Oblivion Crisis. Just an idea right now... anyway, hope you enjoyed the short chapter.<br>**


	10. Secrets and Crossroads

**Author's Note: Those into the story should be happy I tend to update every day. I'm going to keep apologizing about the length but I SWEAR it looks so much bigger in Wordpad... ah, as a fellow author is fond of saying, "a chapter ends when it ends".  
>A shout-out to Lacking-in-name for his (her?) encouraging words and to Enakaz - The Fallen Angel and El loco uno for making this an alert. You guys are awesome. And the usual regards to DualKatanas and Arty Thrip. Yes, I know, this is boring. I don't care, I like to express my gratitude proudly.<strong>

**DISCLAIMER: the last section has Tadave and Vallus again. Vallus is more... extreme this time around. If you don't want to read that, feel free to skip it. I won't mind.  
><strong>

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><p>Vallus stood in the cave the King of Worms occupied, surrounded by his insepid creatures of darkness. Skeletal minions dominated the chamber, each wielding their own weapons menacingly. Vallus was not impressed. A simple necromancer lair, to be sure. Still, the man before him claiming to be Mannimarco had some considerable skill; he had amassed this rather large army of the undead by himself. Skill... or the marks of a madman. Still, he had caught the Listener's interest with his promise. Vallus wasn't quick to trust, he did not trust at all really, but another of his bloodline would not dare cross him. Yet the necromancer was quickly nearing that line with his insolence.<p>

"So you say the Divine Crusader seeks to reverse his affliction?" the vampire hissed. He stood over a slab, the body of a dead Nord atop it. Vallus assumed he meant to turn the man into a zombie of some type; the necromancer had gone on about a new form of thralling he had discovered through "the Revenant" as he called it. Vallus neither cared for necromancy nor did he care for the Altmer himself. All he cared for was the plan.

"I stated that, did I not?" Vallus asked, his voice laced with annoyance. He had made it very clear on his opinion of the King of Worms; he supposed the deranged mage was merely happy for someone resembling a supporter to come to his aid.

"Do you not worry that he would find a connection between us?" was another hiss. Vallus snorted at that.

"We succeeded in turning him, did we not?" was his reply. The Altmer still looked worried.

"Yes, but if he succeeds-"

"If he succeeds," Vallus cut him off. "You made sure the gods would heed his prayers no longer, did you not?" Mannimarco nodded at that. "Then we have nothing to fear." Vallus concluded, a satisfied smile on his cold lips.

"You realize we deal with gods, correct?" the necromancer asked. Vallus laughed.

"Afraid of the Deadra are you?" he taunted the Altmer. "If men came become gods, I think we have nothing to fear."

"Watch how you speak," came the King of Worms petulant voice. "Some may call it blasphemy."

"I care not for your 'Revenant' nor for these 'gods'. I care only for Sithis and His dark will." was Vallus' reply, turning to leave the cavern and this whiny necromancer.

"You shall do as I requested, though?" the Altmer asked once more. Vallus sighed, not even bothering to turn.

"My Silencer shall be more than enough for your simple request." he said, more annoyed than before. "It would not be the first time the Brotherhood has assassinated the Arch-Mage."

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><p>Jesan had stayed at Steelhall long enough for the funeral of his friend. Berenor and himself had taken turns holding young Jax close, their eyes watering every time he asked when his father would wake up. He was too young to understand death, and both Berenor and himself were not too jaded yet as to open his eyes. His heart was shattered as he journeyed toward Chorrol; he could have stopped it all. He could have blown apart the invaders as easily as he could have sneezed. Then Jonah would still be alive. But he thought back to his friend's words before the battle, telling him to ease on his magics. One last battle...<p>

He was a fool. A terrible, blind fool. He knew the man was invisible, he could sense the magic. He thought that Jonah had known, he overestimated his friend's skill. Jonah had never been one for the ways of magic, he called them cowardly and ignoble. Not to Jesan, never to Jesan - to those who would lurk in the shadows and rob those of honor. And now Jesan saw what the Redguard had meant; Jonah should have had a more fitting death, one of honor, one where he had died against a warrior of the same skill, unsurpassed as it had seemed. But no, as was life he was cut down from a sneak and a coward, one that hid from honor and robbed Jonah of glory.

Jesan could see another traveler ahead of him and cut his berating short, curious. He had not been on the road earlier, and Chorrol was not far. He had not seen this new figure exit from the city gates. It was as if he had just come from nowhere with abnormal speed. And he was alone; not many traveled alone besides the most confident or the most foolish. Bandits and marauders plagued the Colovian Highlands, an unfortunate side-effect to Jonah.

Still, a lone traveler appearing from nowhere in the dusk... Jesan sat atop a large rock near the path, watching the onward coming traveler with interest. He had a feeling...

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><p>Cassius saw the figure ahead of him sitting atop a large rock near the path and grew worried. Not many traveled the roads at night but the most confident or the most foolish he had found. Still, the robed man sat on a boulder by the side of the road, watching the crusader's now slow approach.<p>

Before long Cassius was a few yards away, the stranger calling out a greeting.

"Hail, traveler!" the man on the rock called in a voice that sounded vaguely Cyrodiilic, raising his arm. Cassius raised his arm as well, conscious of the veil upon his face.

"Hail to you as well, stranger." Cassius called back, nearing closer to the man. It could have been an Imperial or a Breton under that hood, Cassius wasn't sure. The man was clothed as a mage would be, with navy blue robes gilt with gold at the hems and a matching hood. Cassius knew to be wary around mages; they could easily trick your mind into falsehood, or convince you to things you would otherwise not. He had learned from experience. Still, he had his own experience in magicka. He knew how to spot the difference by now. Nearing the mage he sat upon the rock beside him, taking a moment to draw from the flask at his side. He could smell the blood of the mage inside his veins, pulsating with magic. It was a rather delicious smell in the cool night air, something Cassius had yet to come across. He wondered if he could control himself. He heard the mage chuckle.

"It's not every day that a vampire finds you upon the road and does not immediate beset himself upon you." Cassius heard the mage mention casually. He turned his head slowly to regard him. No expression could be seen under his hood; his expression was entirely emotionless.

"It is not every day that one would recognize a vampire and not begin to set him ablaze." was Cassius' cold reply.

"And it is not every day that one meets an old friend," came the mage, drawing back his hood. Cassius could see it all now; the half-Breton with the piercing blue eyes, the auburn hair, and the small, satisfied smile.

"Jesan?" Cassius asked curiously.

"It's good to see you again, Cassius." the mage affirmed, his smile growing even wider.

Cassius shook his head.

"How did you know it was me?" he asked, beginning to remove the veil.

"My friend, not many look as if they bear the entire world upon their shoulders." Jesan explained. He took a closer look at Cassius' face, a grim expression replacing his smile now.

"I was afflicted during a battle that I can no longer recall." Cassius told Jesan, answering the question that was surely to come before replacing the veil once more.

"What do you remember?" the mage asked, curiosity in his voice. Cassius sighed, thinking back.

"I was..." Cassius tried to remember, but the memory was as foggy as it had ever been since he had awoken in the priory. Jesan nodded.

"Your mind has been corrupted." Jesan told him. "Strong magic is within your mind, blocking memory. I could break it, but..." Jesan trailed off, thinking.

"What is it?" Cassius asked quietly, not at all perturbed that the mage had been probing him. He had grown used to it over the years. Jesan shook his head.

"I have a feeling it would be premature to do so." Jesan said simply, getting off of the rock. He looked at the crusader.

"Knowing you, Cassius," the mage said in a knowing voice. "You're on your way to complete the Pilgrimage once more. I can not say what will happen at the end... but I can tell you I can reverse this affliction. Come to me in a week's time, and you shall have your cure." Jesan told him, beginning to head off toward Chorrol. Cassius was not at all surprised; he would have seeked out the mage anyway. He said nothing as Jesan strode off into the night, instead getting off of the rock, turning southwest to the rest of the wayshrines. Whether or not the Nine themselves could reverse this, Cassius was confident at least this foul affliction could be relieved. With a sigh he sped off into the night, determined to reach the last of the wayshrines before dawn.

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><p>Tadave lay in the bed of her master, a dark mahogany coffin lined with the finest red velvet. It was plush and comfortable to her naked backside. She slowly drew the knife over her body, loving the tickle of the blade against her skin. As she moved it around her neck she shivered finally in the cool air that always permeated the hollow. She did not draw blood, merely let the blade slide across her skin, loving the feeling, smiling at its touch. She slowly drew it down her torso, between her breasts, across her stomach, past her belly button, breaking it off before she went any farther. She often did this when her master was away, sometimes wearing his clothes, anything to smell him once more, feel his presence. She could almost feel him now...<p>

"Tadave," a soft voice called. Her eyes snapped open to see the Listener standing before her. In his private chambers. In his coffin. Naked. She began to stammer out an apology to him as he drew near, but she felt gentle hands on her cheek, her master's lips on hers once more. Slow and passionate, sweet as summer apples, as cool as a cool spring. He had wrapped his arms about her, pulling her closer, his kisses getting heavier, deeper. He was making her warm, in her haste wrapping a leg around his midriff, pulling him closer, wanting him...

Suddenly she felt a vice-like grip around her throat, closing her airways as he broke the embrace. There was murder in his dark eyes as she felt herself being picked up, her body flying across the room as he threw her, smacking into the wall on the opposite side, sliding onto the cold stone floor. As she began to choke out an apology for whatever she had done she felt his boot in her mouth, cracking a tooth. He stomped on her head; it hit the unforgiving stone floor with a sickening thud, her world beginning to go black. Then she felt a kick to her stomach and her world came back with vivid clarity, her body aching. She felt sick as he grabbed her once more by the throat, lifting her off of her feet, holding her against the wall by her throat.

Then she felt his cold lips upon hers once more, making the pain recede, making everything okay. Everything was okay when he showed that he loved her, no matter what he did. He could do no wrong in her eyes, he never had and he never will. She knew this in her heart. Before they could go any further with their interaction the Listener broke the embrace, regarding his Silencer.

"I have a task for you," he whispered in her ear, his breath a cold tickle. "You will find your orders ready in your room. Do not tarry, and make haste." he kissed her once more, letting her slide to the floor on her feet. She looked at her master, her eyes sparkling, her mouth bleeding, her face bruised.

"I love you," she whispered, bracing for the inevitable hit. None came. Her master had turned away, heading toward his desk, not giving her the slightest regard. Limping, she trotted past him, hurrying to heed his will, her life for him, now and forever.

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><p><strong>Author's Note: Yes, I know, they're fucking insane. Still a cute couple though, right? Hahahahaha... I think I might be crazy too for writing that. Oh well, it could be worse. It could get very, VERY worse, but then I'd have to change my rating.<strong>


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